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SILVER   AND    GOLD 


BY   THE  SAME  AUTHOR 

THE  FIGHTING  FOOL: 
A  Talc  of  the  Western  Frontier 

Cloth,    i2mo.    with  •  wrapper   drawn   t>y 
Edward  Borein 

$1.75  net 


P.  BUTTON  &   COMPANY 
NEW  YORK 


SILVER  AND  GOLD 

A  Story  ef  Luck  and  Love 
in  a  Western  Mining  Camp 

BY 

DANE    COOLIDGE 

AUTHOR  or  "THB  FIGHTING  FOOL"  ETC. 


"  Gold  is  where  you  find  it,  and  Silver 
in  high  places.**— r Miners'  Saying. 


NEW 

E.  P.  BUTTON  &  COMPANY 

68 1   FIFTH  AVENUE 


COPYRIGHT,  1919 
BY  E.  P.  BUTTON  &  COMPANY 


Att  Rights  Reservtd 

/9oo 


Printed  in  tht  United  Statet  of  America 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  THE  GROUND-HOG i 

II.  BIG  BOY 7 

III.  HOBO  STUFF 16 

IV.  CASH 23 

V.  MOTHER  TRIGEDGO 33 

VI.  THE  ORACULUM 42 

VII.  THE  EMINENT  BUTTINSKY 53 

VIII.  THE  SILVER  TREASURE 61 

IX.  BIBLE-BACK  MURRAY 72 

X.  SIGNS  AND  OMENS     .......  81 

XI.  THE  LADY  OF  THE  SYCAMORES  .     .     .     .92 

XII.  STEEL  ON  STEEL 100 

XIII.  SWEDE  LUCK 108 

XIV.  THE  STRIKE 119 

XV.  A  NIGHT  FOR  LOVE 128, 

XVI.  A  FRIEND 138 

XVII.  BROKE 147 

XVIII.  THE  HAND  OF  FATE 154 

XIX.  THE  MAN-KILLER 161 

XX.  JUMPERS— AND  TENORS 170 

XXI.  BROKE  AGAIN iSo 

XXII.  THE  ROCK-DRILLING  CONTEST.     .     .     .  189 

XXIII.  THE  HEART  OF  HIS  BELOVED     .     .     .     .200 

XXIV.  COLONEL  DODGE 210 

v 


vi  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  pAGE 

XXV.  THE  ANSWER 219 

XXVI.  THE  COURSE  OF  THE  LAW 231 

XXVII.  LIKE  A  HOG  ON  ICE 238 

XXVIII.  PAROLE 245 

XXIX.  THE  INTERPRETATION  THEREOF     .     .     .  251 


SILVER   AND    GOLD 


THE  PROPHECY 

"You  will  make  a  long  journey  to  the  West  and  there, 
within  the  shadow  of  a  Place  of  Death,  you  will  find 
two  treasures,  one  of  Silver  and  the  other  of  Gold. 
Choose  well  between  them  and  both  shall  be  Yours, 
but  if  you  choose  unwisely  you  will  lose  them  Both 
and  suffer  a  great  disgrace.  You  will  fall  in  love  with 
a  beautiful  woman  who  is  an  artist,  but  beware  how 
you  reveal  your  affection  or  she  will  confer  her  hand 
upon  Another.  Courage  and  constancy  will  attend 
you  through  life  but  in  the  end  will  prove  your  un 
doing,  for  you  will  meet  your  death  at  the  hands  of 
your  Dearest  Friend." 


via 


SILVER  AND  GOLD 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  GROUND-HOG 

THE  day  had  dawned  on  the  summit  of  Apache 
Leap  and  a  golden  eagle,  wheeling  high  above 
the  crags,  flashed  back  the  fire  of  the  sun  from  his 
wings;  but  in  the  valley  below  where  old  Final 
lay  sleeping  the  heat  had  not  begun.  A  cool  wind 
drew  down  from  the  black  mouth  of  Queen  Creek 
Canyon,  stirring  the  listless  leaves  of  the  willows, 
and  the  shadow  of  the  great  cliff  fell  like  a  sooth 
ing  hand  on  the  deserted  town  at  its  base.  In  the 
brief  freshness  of  the  morning  there  was  a  smell 
of  flaunting  green  from  the  sycamores  along  the 
creek,  and  the  tang  of  greasewood  from  the  ridges; 
and  then,  from  the  chimney  of  a  massive  stone 
house,  there  came  the  odor  of  smoke.  A  coffee 
mill  began  to  purr  from  the  kitchen  behind  and  a 
voice  shouted  a  summons  to  breakfast,  but  the  hobo 
miner  who  lay  sprawling  in  his  blankets  did  not 
answer  the  peremptory  call.  He  raised  his  great 
head,  turned  his  pig  eyes  toward  the  house,  then 
covered  his  face  from  the  flies. 


4  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

"Never  mind,"  returned  her  husband,  slipping 
the  wallet  into  his  pocket,  and  she  sighed  and  folded 
her  hands.  The  hobo  was  walking  fast,  coming 
back  down  the  hill,  and  when  he  saw  Hill  by  the 
blankets  he  broke  into  a  ponderous  trot. 

"Say,"  he  called,  "you  didn't  see  a  purse,  did  ye? 
I  left  one  under  my  blankets." 

"A  purse!"  exclaimed  Bunker  with  exaggerated 
surprise.  "Why  I  thought  you  was  broke — what 
business  have  you  got  with  a  purse? 

"Well,  I  had  a  few  keep-sakes  and " 

"You're  a  liar !"  rapped  out  Bunker  and  his  sharp 
lower  jaw  suddenly  jutted  out  like  a  crag.  "You're 
a  liar,"  he  repeated,  as  the  hobo  let  it  pass,  "you  had 
eight  hundred  and  twenty-five  dollars." 

"Well,  what's  that  to  you?"  retorted  the  miner 
defiantly.  "It's  mine,  so  gimme  it  back !" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  drawled  Bunker  hauling 
the  purse  from  his  pocket  and  looking  over  the  bills, 
"I  don't  know  whether  I  will  or  not.  You  came  in 
here  last  night  and  told  me  you  were  broke,  but 
right  here  is  where  I  collect.  It'll  cost  you  five 
dollars  for  your  supper  and  breakfast  and  five  dol 
lars  more  for  your  bed — that's  my  regular  price  to 
transients." 

"No,  you  don't!"  exclaimed  the  hobo,  but  as 
Bunker  looked  up  he  drew  back  a  step  and  waited. 

"That's  ten  dollars  in  all,"  continued  Hill,  ex 
tracting  two  bills  from  the  purse,  "and  next  time 
you  bum  your  breakfast  I'd  advise  you  to  thank 
the  cook." 


THE  GROUND-HOG  5 

"Hey,  you  give  me  that  money!"  burst  out  the 
miner  hoarsely,  holding  out  a  threatening  hand,  and 
Bunker  Hill  rose  to  his  full  height.  He  was  six 
feet  two  when  he  stooped. 

"W'y,  sure,"  he  said  handing  over  the  wallet; 
but  as  the  miner  turned  to  go  Hill  jabbed  him  in 
the  ribs  with  a  pistol.  "Just  a  moment,  my  friend," 
he  went  on  quietly,  "I  just  want  to  tell  you  a  few 
things.  I've  been  feeding  men  like  you  for  fifteen 
years,  right  here  in  this  old  town,  and  I've  never 
turned  one  away  yet;  but  you  can  tell  any  bo  that 
you  meet  on  the  trail  that  the  road-sign  for  this 
burg  is  changed.  I  used  to  be  easy,  but  so  help  me 
Gawd,  I'll  never  feed  a  hobo  again.  Here  my  wife 
has  been  slaving  over  a  red-hot  stove  cooking  grub 
for  you  hoboes  for  years  and  the  first  bum  that  for 
gets  and  leaves  his  purse  has  eight  hundred  dollars 
— cash !  Now  you  git,  dad-burn  ye,  before  I  do  the 
world  a  favor  and  fill  you  full  of  lead!"  He  mo 
tioned  him  away  with  the  muzzle  of  his  pistol  while 
his  wife  laid  a  hand  on  his  arm,  and  after  one  look 
the  hobo  turned  and  loped  over  the  top  of  the  hill. 

"Now  Andrew,  please,"  expostulated  Mrs.  Hill, 
and,  still  breathing  hard,  Old  Bunk  put  up  his  gun 
and  reached  for  a  chew  of  tobacco. 

"Well,  all  right,"  he  growled,  "but  you  heard 
what  I  said — that's  the  last  doggoned  hobo  we 
feed." 

"Well— perhaps,"  she  conceded,  but  Bunker  Hill 
was  roused  by  the  memory  of  years  of  ingratitude. 

"No  'perhaps'  about  it,"  he  asserted  firmly,  "I'll 


6  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

run  every  last  one  of  them  away.  Do  you  think 
I'm  going  to  work  my  head  off  for  my  family,  only 
to  be  et  out  of  house  and  home?  Do  you  think 
I'm  going  to  have  you  cooking  meals  for  these 
miners  when  they're  earning  their  five  dollars  a 
day?  Let  'em  buy  a  lunch  at  the  store!" 

"No,  but  Andrew,"  protested  Mrs.  Hill,  who  was 
a  large,  motherly  soul  and  not  to  be  bowed  down 
by  work,  "I'm  sure  that  some  of  them  are  worthy." 

"Yes,  I  know  you  are,"  he  answered,  smiling 
grimly,  "that's  what  you  always  say.  But  you  hear 
me,  now;  I'm  through.  Don't  you  feed  another 
man." 

He  turned  to  his  daughter  for  support,  but  his 
bad  luck  had  just  begun.  Drusilla  was  shading  her 
eyes  from  the  sun  and  staring  up  the  trail. 

"Oh,  here  comes  another  one,"  she  cried  in  a 
hushed  voice  and  pointed  up  the  creek.  He  stood 
at  the  mouth  of  the  black-shadowed  canyon  where 
the  trail  comes  in  from  Globe — a  young  man  with 
wind-blown  hair,  looking  doubtfully  down  at  the 
town ;  but  when  he  saw  them  he  stepped  boldly  forth 
and  came  plodding  down  the  trail. 

"Oh,  not  this  one !"  pleaded  Mrs.  Hill  when  she 
saw  his  boyish  face ;  but  Bunker  Hill  thrust  out  his 
jaw. 

"Every  one  of  'em,"  he  muttered,  "the  whole 
works — all  of  'em!  You  women  folks  go  into  the 
house." 


CHAPTER  II 

BIG  BOY 

HE  was  a  big,  fair-haired  boy,  blue-eyed  and 
clean  limbed,  and  as  he  came  down  the  trail 
there  was  a  spring  to  his  step  that  not  even  a  limp 
could  obliterate;  and  at  every  stride  the  great 
muscles  in  his  chest  played  and  rippled  beneath  his 
shirt.  He  was  a  fine  figure  of  a  man,  tall  and 
straight  as  an  Apollo,  and  yet  he  was  a  hobo.  Never 
before  had  Bunker  Hill  seen  a  better  built  man 
or  one  more  open-faced  and  frank,  but  he  came 
down  the  trail  with  the  familiar  hobo-limp  and 
Bunker  set  his  jaws  and  waited.  It  was  such  men 
as  this,  young  and  strong  and  full  of  blood,  who 
had  kept  him  poor  for  years.  Hobo  miners,  the 
most  expert  of  their  craft,  and  begging  their  grub 
on  the  trail ! 

"Good  morning,"  nodded  Hill  and  squinted  down 
his  eyes  as  the  young  man  boggled  at  his  words. 

"Good  morning,"  replied  the  hobo  and  then,  after 
a  pause,  he  straightened  up  and  came  to  the  point. 
"What's  the  chance  to  get  a  little  something  to  eat  ?" 
he  inquired  with  a  twisted  smile  and  Bunker  Hill 
sprang  his  bomb. 


8  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

"Danged  poor,"  he  returned,  and  as  the  hobo 
blinked  he  spoke  his  piece  with  a  rush.  "I've  got 
a  store  over  there  where  you  can  buy  what  you 
want;  but  I've  quit,  absolutely,  feeding  every  hobo 
that  comes  by  and  batters  my  door  for  grub.  I'm 
an  old  man  myself  and  you're  young  and  strong — 
why  the  hell  don't  you  get  out  and  work?" 

"Never  you  mind,"  answered  the  hobo,  his  eyes 
glowing  angrily ;  and  as  Old  Bunk  went  on  with  his 
tirade  the  miner's  lip  curled  with  scorn.  "That's 
all  right,  old-timer,"  he  broke  in  with  cold  polite 
ness — "no  offense — don't  let  me  deprive  you.  I 
don't  make  a  practice  of  battering  on  back  doors. 
But,  say,  I'm  looking  for  a  fellow  with  a  big,  black 
mustache — did  you  see  him  come  by  this  way?" 

"Did  I  see  him?"  yelled  Hill  flying  into  a  fury, 
"well  you're  danged  whistling  I  did!  He  came  in 
last  night  and  bummed  his  supper — my  wife  had  to 
cook  it  special — and  I  gave  him  his  bed  and  break 
fast;  and  this  morning  when  he  left  he  didn't  even 
say:  Thanks!'  That's  how  grateful  these  hoboes 
are !  And  when  I  went  out  to  pick  up  his  blankets 
a  thumping  big  purse  dropped  out !" 

"Holy  Joe !"  exclaimed  the  hobo  looking  up  with 
sudden  interest,  "say,  how  long  ago  did  he  leave?" 

"Not  half  an  hour!  No,  not  ten  minutes  ago — 
and  if  my  wife  hadn't  been  there  to  hold  me  down 
I'd  have  run  him  till  he  dropped.  And  when  I 
opened  that  purse  it  was  full  of  money — there  was 
eight  hundred  and  twenty-five  dollars — and  him  try 
ing  to  tell  me  he  was  broke!" 


BIG  BOY  9 

"That's  him,  all  right,"  declared  the  hobo.  "Well, 
so  long;  I'll  be  on  my  way." 

He  started  off  down  the  trail  at  a  long,  swing 
ing  stride,  then  turned  abruptly  back. 

"I'll  get  a  drink,"  he  suggested,  "if  there's  no 
objection.  Don't  charge  for  your  water,  I  reckon." 

It  was  all  said  politely  and  yet  there  was  an  edge 
to  it  which  cut  Old  Bunk  to  the  quick.  He,  Bunker 
Hill,  who  had  fed  hoboes  for  years  and  had  never 
taken  a  cent,  to  be  insulted  like  this  by  the  first 
sturdy  beggar  that  he  declined  to  serve  with  a  meal ! 
He  reached  for  his  gun,  but  just  at  that  moment 
his  wife  laid  a  hand  on  his  arm.  She  had  not  been 
far  away,  just  up  on  the  porch  where  she  could 
watch  what  was  going  on,  and  she  turned  to  the 
hobo  with  a  smile. 

"Mr.  Hill  is  just  angry,"  she  explained  good- 
naturedly,  "on  account  of  that  other  man;  but  if 
you'll  wait  a  few  minutes  I'll  cook  you  some  break 
fast  and " 

"Thank  you,  ma'am,"  returned  the  miner,  taking 
off  his  hat  civilly,  "I'll  just  take  a  drink  and  go." 

He  hurried  back  to  the  well  and,  picking  up  the 
bucket,  drank  long  and  deep  of  the  water;  then  he 
threw  away  the  rest  and  with  practiced  hands  drew 
up  a  fresh  bucket  from  the  depths. 

"You'd  better  fill  a  bottle,"  called  Bunker  Hill, 
whose  anger  was  beginning  to  evaporate,  "it's  six 
teen  miles  to  the  next  water." 

The  hobo  said  nothing,  nor  did  he  fill  a  bottle, 
and  as  he  came  back  past  them  there  was  a  set  to 


io  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

his  jaw  that  was  eloquent  of  rage  and  disdain.  It 
was  the  custom  of  the  country — of  that  great,  desert 
country  where  houses  are  days'  journeys  apart — 
to  invite  every  stranger  in;  and  as  Bunker  Hill 
gazed  after  him  he  saw  his  good  name  held  up  to 
execration  and  scorn.  This  boy  was  a  Westerner, 
he  could  tell  by  his  looks  and  the  way  he  saved 
on  his  words,  perhaps  he  even  lived  in  those  parts; 
and  in  a  sudden  vision  Hill  beheld  him  spreading 
the  news  as  he  followed  the  long  trail  to  the  rail 
road.  He  would  come  dragging  in  to  Whitlow's 
Wells,  the  next  station  down  the  road,  so  weak 
he  could  hardly  walk  and  when  they  enquired  into 
his  famished  condition  he  would  unfold  some  ter 
rible  tale.  And  the  worst  of  it  was  that  the  boys 
would  believe  it  and  repeat  it  to  all  who  passed. 
Men  would  hear  in  distant  cow  camps,  far  back  in 
the  Superstitions,  that  Old  Bunk  had  driven  a  starv 
ing  man  from  his  door  and  he  had  nearly  perished 
on  the  desert. 

"Hey!"  called  Bunker  Hill  taking  a  step  or  two 
after  him,  "wait  a  minute — I'll  give  you  a  lunch." 

"You  can  keep  your  lunch,"  said  the  man  over  his 
shoulder  and  strode  doggedly  on  up  the  hill. 

"Gimme  something  to  take  to  him,"  rapped  out 
Hill  to  his  wife,  but  the  hobo's  sharp  ears  had 
caught  the  words  and  he  wheeled  abruptly  in  his 
tracks. 

"I  wouldn't  take  your  danged  lunch  if  it  was 
the  last  grub  on  earth,"  he  shouted  in  a  towering 


BIG  BOY  ii 

rage;  and  while  they  stood  gazing  he  turned  his 
back  and  passed  on  over  the  hill. 

"Let  'im  go!"  grumbled  Bunker  pacing  up  and 
down  and  avoiding  his  helpmeet's  eye,  but  at  last 
he  ripped  out  a  smothered  oath  and  racked  off  down 
the  street  to  his  stable.  This  was  an  al  fresco  affair, 
consisting  of  a  big  stone  corral  within  the  walls 
of  what  had  once  been  the  dancehall,  and  as  he 
saddled  up  his  horse  and  rode  out  the  narrow  gate 
he  found  his  wife  waiting  with  a  lunch. 

"Don't  crush  the  doughnuts,"  she  murmured 
anxiously  and  patted  his  hand  approvingly. 

"All  right,"  he  said  and,  putting  spurs  to  his 
horse,  he  galloped  off  over  the  hill. 

The  old  town  of  Final  lay  on  a  bench  above  the 
creek  bed,  with  high  cliffs  to  the  east  and  north; 
but  south  and  west  the  country  fell  off  rapidly  in  a 
series  of  rolling  ridges.  Over  these  the  road  to  the 
railroad  climbed  and  dipped  with  wearisome  regu 
larity  until  at  last  it  dropped  down  into  the  creek- 
bed  again  and  followed  its  dry,  sandy  course.  Not 
half  an  hour  had  passed  from  the  time  the  second 
hobo  left  till  Old  Bunk  had  started  after  him,  yet 
so  fast  had  he  traveled  that  he  was  almost  to  the 
creek  bed  before  Bunker  Hill  caught  sight  of  him. 

"Ay,  Chihuahua!"  he  ejaculated  in  shrill  surprise 
and  reined  in  his  horse  to  fraze.  The  voting1  hobo 
was  running  and,  not  far  ahead,  the  Ground  Hog 
was  fleeing  before  him.  They  ran  through  bushy 
gulches  and  over  cactus-crowned  ridges  where  the 
sahuaros  rose  up  like  giant  sentinels;  until  at  last, 


IB  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

as  he  came  to  the  sandy  creek-bed,  the  black  hobo 
stood  at  bay. 

"They're  righting!"  exclaimed  Bunker  with  a  joy 
ous  chuckle  and  rode  down  the  trail  like  the  wind. 

After  twenty  wild  years  in  Old  Mexico,  there 
were  times  when  Bunker  Hill  found  Arizona  a  trifle 
tame;  but  here  at  last  there  was  staged  a  combat 
that  promised  to  take  a  place  in  local  history.  When 
he  rode  up  on  the  fight  the  young  miner  and  the 
Ground  Hog  were  standing  belt  to  belt,  exchanging 
blows  with  all  their  strength,  and  as  the  young  man 
reeled  back  from  a  right  to  the  jaw  the  Ground 
Hog  leapt  in  to  finish  him. 

"Here!  None  of  that!"  spoke  up  Bunker  Hill 
menacing  the  black  hobo  with  his  quirt;  but  the 
battered  young  Apollo  waved  him  angrily  aside  and 
flew  at  his  opponent  again. 

"I'll  show  you,  you  danged  dog!"  he  cursed 
exultantly  as  the  Ground  Hog  went  down  before 
him,  "I'll  show  you  how  to  run  out  on  me !  Come 
on,  you  big  stiff,  and  if  I  don't  make  you  holler 
quit  you  can  have  every  dollar  you  stole!" 

"Hey,  what's  the  matter,  Big  Boy?  What's 
going  on  here?"  demanded  Bunker  of  the  blond 
young  giant.  "I  thought  you  fellers  were  pard- 
ners." 

"Pardners,  hell!"  spat  Big  Boy,  whose  mouth 
was  beginning  to  bleed.  "He  robbed  me  of  all  my 
money.  We  won  eight  hundred  dollars  in  the  drill 
ing  contest  at  Globe  and  he  collected  the  stakes  and 
beat  it!" 


BIG  BOY  13 

"You're  a  liar !"  retorted  the  Ground  Hog  stand 
ing  sullenly  on  his  guard,  and  once  more  Big  Boy 
went  after  him.  They  roughed  it  back  and  forth, 
neither  seeking  to  avoid  the  blows  but  swinging 
with  all  their  might;  until  at  last  the  Ground  Hog 
landed  a  mighty  smash  that  knocked  his  opponent 
to  the  ground.  "Now  lay  there/'  he  jeered,  and, 
stepping  over  to  one  side,  he  picked  up  a  purse 
from  the  ground. 

It  was  the  same  bulging  purse  that  he  had  for 
gotten  that  morning  in  his  hurry  to  get  over  the 
hill,  and  as  Bunker  Hill  gazed  at  it  two  things  which 
had  misled  him  became  suddenly  very  plain.  The 
day  before  had  been  the  Fourth  of  July,  when  the 
miners  had  their  contests  in  Globe,  and  these  two 
powerful  men  were  a  team  of  double- j ackers  who 
had  won  the  first  prize  between  them.  Then  the 
Ground  Hog  had  stolen  the  total  proceeds,  which 
accounted  for  his  show  of  great  wealth;  and  Big 
Boy,  on  the  other  hand,  being  left  without  a  cent, 
had  been  compelled  to  beg  for  his  breakfast.  A 
wave  of  righteous  anger  rose  up  in  Old  Bunk's 
breast  at  the  monstrous  injustice  of  it  all  and,  whip 
ping  out  his  pistol,  he  threw  down  on  the  Ground 
Hog  and  ordered  him  to  put  up  his  hands. 

"And  now  lay  down  that  purse,"  he  continued 
briefly,  "before  I  shoot  the  flat  out  of  your  eye." 

The  hobo  complied,  but  before  he  could  retreat 
the  young  miner  raised  himself  up. 

"Say,  you  butt  out  of  this!"  he  said  to  Bunker 


i4  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

Hill,  waggling  his  head  to  shake  off  the  blood.    "I'll 
'tend  to  this  yap  myself." 

He  turned  his  gory  front  to  the  Ground  Hog, 
who  came  eagerly  back  to  the  fray;  and  once  more 
like  snarling  animals  they  heaved  and  slugged  and 
grunted,  until  once  more  poor  Big  Boy  went  down. 

"I  can  whip  him !"  he  panted  rising  up  and  clear 
ing  his  eyes.  "I  could  clean  him  in  a  minute — only 
I'm  starved." 

He  staggered  and  the  heart  of  Bunker  Hill  smote 
him  when  he  remembered  how  he  had  denied  the 
man  food.  Yet  he  bored  in  resolutely,  though  his 
blows^  were  weak,  and  the  Ground  Hog's  pig  eyes 
gleamed.  He  abated  his  own  blows,  standing  with 
arms  relaxed  and  waiting;  and  when  he  saw  the 
opening  he  struck.  It  was  aimed  at  the  jaw,  a  last, 
smashing  hay-maker,  such  a  blow  as  would  stagger 
an  ox;  but  as  it  came  past  his  guard  the  young 
Apollo  ducked,  and  then  suddenly  he  struck  from 
the  hip.  His  whole  body  was  behind  it,  a  sharp 
uppercut  that  caught  the  hurtling  Ground  Hog  on 
the  chin ;  and  as  his  head  went  back  his  body  lurched 
and  followed  and  he  landed  in  a  heap  in  the  dirt. 

"He's  out !"  shouted  Bunker  and  Big  Boy  nodded 
grimly;  but  the  Ground  Hog  was  pawing  at  the 
ground.  He  rose  up,  and  fell,  then  rose  up  again; 
and  as  they  watched  him  half -pityingly  he  scram 
bled  across  the  sand  and  made  a  grab  at  the  purse. 

"You  stand  back!"  he  blustered  clutching  the 
purse  to  his  breast  and  snapping  open  the  blade  of 


BIG  BOY  15 

a  huge  jack-knife ;  but  before  Old  Bunk  could  inter 
vene  Big  Boy  had  caught  up  a  rock. 

"You  drop  that  knife,"  he  shouted  fiercely,  "or 
I'll  bash  out  your  brains  with  this  stone !"  And  as 
the  Ground  Hog  gazed  into  his  battle-mad  eyes  he 
weakened  and  dropped  the  knife.  "Now  gimme 
that  purse!"  ordered  the  masterful  Big  Boy  and, 
cringing  before  the  rock,  the  beaten  Ground  Hog 
slammed  it  down  on  the  ground  with  a  curse. 

"I'll  git  you  yet!"  he  burst  out  hoarsely  as  he 
shambled  off  down  the  trail,  "I'll  learn  you  to  git 
gay  with  me!" 

"You'll  learn  me  nothing,"  returned  the  young 
miner  contemptuously  and  gathered  up  the  spoils 
of  battle. 


CHAPTER  III 

HOBO  STUFF 

YOUNG  man,"  began  Bunker  Hill  after  a  long 
and  painful  silence  in  which  Big  Boy  com 
pletely  ignored  him,  "I  want  to  ask  your  pardon. 
And  anything  I  can  do " 

"I'm  all  right,"  cut  in  the  hobo  wiping  the  blood 
out  of  one  eye  and  feeling  tenderly  of  a  tooth,  "and 
I  don't  want  nothing  to  do  with  you." 

"Can't  blame  ye,  can't  blame  ye,"  answered  Old 
Bunk  judicially.  "I  certainly  got  you  wrong.  But 
as  I  was  about  to  say,  Mrs.  Hill  sent  this  lunch 
and  she  said  she  hoped  you'd  accept  it." 

He  untied  a  sack  from  the  back  of  his  saddle, 
and  as  he  caught  the  fragrance  of  new-made  dough 
nuts  Big  Boy's  resolution  failed. 

"All  right,"  he  said,  making  a  grab  for  the  lunch. 
"Much  obliged !"  And  he  chucked  him  a  bill. 

"Hey,  what's  this  for?"  exclaimed  Bunker  Hill 
grievously.  "Didn't  I  ask  your  pardon  already." 

"Well,  maybe  you  did,"  returned  the  hobo,  "but 
after  that  call  down  you  gave  me  this  morning  I'm 
going  to  pay  my  way.  It's  too  danged  bad,"  he 
murmured  sarcastically  as  he  opened  up  the  lunch, 

16 


HOBO  STUFF  17 

"Sure  hard  luck  to  see  a  good  woman  like  that  mar 
ried  to  a  penny  pinching  old  walloper  like  you." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  observed  Old  Bunk,  gazing 
doubtfully  at  the  bill,  but  at  last  he  put  it  in  his 
pocket. 

"Yes,  that's  right,"  he  agreed  with  an  indulgent 
smile,  "she's  an  awful  good  cook — and  an  awful 
good  woman,  too.  I'll  just  give  her  this  money  to 
buy  some  little  present — she  told  me  I  was  wrong, 
all  the  time.  But  I  want  to  tell  you,  pardner — you 
can  believe  it  or  not — I  never  turned  a  man  down 
before." 

The  hobo  grunted  and  bit  into  a  doughnut  and 
Bunker  Hill  settled  down  beside  him. 

"Say,"  he  began  in  an  easy,  conversational  tone, 
"did  you  ever  hear  about  the  hobo  that  was  walk 
ing  the  streets  in  Globe?  Well,  he  was  broke  and 
up  against  it — hadn't  et  for  two  days  and  the  rust 
ling  was  awful  poor — but  as  he  was  walking  along 
the  street  in  front  of  that  big  restaurant  he  saw  a 
new  meal  ticket  on  the  sidewalk.  His  luck  had 
been  so  bad  he  wouldn't  even  look  at  it  but  at 
last  when  he  went  by  he  took  another  slant  and  see 
that  it  was  good — there  wasn't  but  one  meal 
punched  out." 

"Aw,  rats,"  scoffed  Big  Boy,  "are  you  still  tell 
ing  that  one?  There  was  a  miner  came  by  just  as 
he  reached  down  to  grab  it  and  punched  out  every 
meal  with  his  hob-nails." 

"That's  the  story,"  admitted  Bunker,  "but  say, 
here's  another  one—did  you  ever  hear  of  the  hobo 


i8  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

Mark  Twain?  Well,  he  was  a  well-known  char 
acter  in  the  old  days  around  Globe — kinder  drifted 
around  from  one  camp  to  the  other  and  worked  all 
his  friends  for  a  dollar.  That  was  his  regular  graft, 
he  never  asked  for  more  and  he  never  asked  the 
same  man  twice,  but  once  every  year  he'd  make  the 
rounds  and  the  old-timers  kind  of  put  up  with  him. 
Great  story-teller  and  all  that  and  one  day  I  was 
sitting  talking  with  him  when  a  mining  man  came 
into  the  saloon.  He  owned  a  mine,  over  around 
Mammoth  somewhere,  and  he  wanted  a  man  to  herd 
it.  It  was  seventy-five  a  month,  with  all  expenses 
paid  and  all  you  had  to  do  was  to  stick  around  and 
keep  some  outsider  from  jumping  in.  Well,  when 
he  asked  for  a  man  I  saw  right  away  it  was  just 
the  place  for  old  Mark  and  I  began  to  kind  of  poke 
him  in  the  ribs,  but  when  he  didn't  answer  I  hol 
lered  to  the  mining  man  that  I  had  just  the  feller 
he  wanted.  Well,  the  mining  man  came  over  and 
put  it  up  to  Mark,  and  everybody  present  began  to 
boost.  He  was  such  an  old  bum  that  we  wanted 
to  get  rid  of  him  and  there  wasn't  a  thing  he  could 
kick  on.  There  was  plenty  of  grub,  a  nice  house 
to  live  in  and  he  didn't  have  to  work  a  tap;  but 
in  spite  of  all  that,  after  he'd  asked  all  kinds  of 
questions,  Old  Mark  said  he'd  have  to  think  it  over. 
So  he  went  over  to  the  bar  and  began  to  figger  on 
some  paper  and  at  last  he  came  back  and  said  he 
was  sorry  but  he  couldn't  afford  to  take  it. 

"  'Well,  why  not  ?'  we  asks,  because  we  knowed 
he  was  a  bum,  but  he  says:  Well  gentlemen,  I'll 


HOBO  STUFF  19 

tell  ye,  it's  this  way.  I've  got  twelve  hundred 
friends  in  Arizona  that's  worth  a  dollar  apiece  a 
year;  but  this  danged  job  only  pays  seventy-five 
a  month — I'd  be  losing  three  hundred  a  year/  ' 

"Huh,  huh,"  grunted  Big  Boy,  picking  up  some 
folded  tarts,  "your  mind  seems  to  be  took  up  with 
hoboes." 

"Them's  my  wife's  pay-streak  biscuits,"  grinned 
Bunker  Hill,  "or  at  least,  that's  what  I  call  'em. 
The  bottom  crust  is  the  foot-wall,  the  top  is  the 
hanging-wall,  and  the  jelly  in  the  middle  is  the 
pay  streak." 

"Danged  good !"  pronounced  the  hobo  licking  the 
tips  of  his  fingers  and  Old  Bunk  tapped  him  on  the 
knee. 

"Say,"  he  said,  "seeing  the  way  you  whipped 
that  jasper  puts  me  in  mind  of  a  feller  back  in 
Texas.  He  was  a  big,  two-fisted  hombre,  one  of 
these  Texas  bad-men  that  was  always  getting  drunk 
and  starting  in  to  clean  up  the  town;  and  he  had 
all  the  natives  bluffed.  Well,  he  was  in  the  saloon 
one  day,  telling  how  many  men  he'd  killed,  when 
a  little  guy  dropped  in  that  had  just  come  to  town, 
and  he  seemed  to  take  a  great  interest.  He  kept 
edging  up  closer,  sharpening  the  blade  of  his  jack- 
knife  on  one  of  these  here  little  pocket  whetstones, 
until  finally  he  reached  over  and  cut  a  notch  in  the 
bad  man's  ear. 

"'There,'  he  says,   *y°u're  so  doggoned  bad — 
next  time  I  see  you  I'll  know  you !' " 


20  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

"Yeh,  some  guy,"  observed  Big  Boy,  "and  I  see 
you're  some  story-teller,  but  what's  all  this  got  to 
do  with  me?" 

"Oh,  nothing,  nothing,"  answered  Old  Bunk 
hastily,  "only  I  thought  while  you  were  eating " 

"Yes,  you  told  me  two  stories  about  a  couple  of 
hoboes  and  then  another  one  about  taming  down  a 
bad  man;  but  I  want  to  tell  you  right  now,  before 
you  go  any  further,  that  I'm  no  hobo  nor  bad  man 
neither.  I'm  a  danged  good  miner — one  of  the 
best  in  Globe " 

"Aw,  no  no !"  burst  out  Bunker  holding  up  both 
hands  in  protest,  "you've  got  me  wrong  entirely." 

"Well,  your  stories  may  be  all  right,"  responded 
Big  Boy  shortly,  "but  they  don't  make  a  hit  with 
me.  And  I've  took  about  enough,  for  one  day." 

He  started  back  up  the  trail  and  Bunker  Hill 
rode  along  behind  him  going  over  the  events  of  the 
day.  Some  distinctly  evil  genius  seemed  to  have 
taken  possession  of  him  from  the  moment  he  got 
out  of  bed  and,  try  as  he  would,  it  seemed  absolutely 
impossible  for  him  to  square  himself  with  this  Big 
Boy. 

"Hey,  git  on  and  ride,"  he  shouted  encourag 
ingly,  but  Big  Boy  shook  his  head. 

"Don't  want  to,"  he  answered  and  once  more 
Bunker  Hill  was  left  to  ponder  his  mistakes.  The 
first,  of  course,  was  in  taking  too  much  for  granted 
when  Big  Boy  had  walked  into  town;  and  the  sec 
ond  was  in  ever  refusing  a  hobo  when  he  asked 


HOBO  STUFF  21 

for  something  to  eat.  True  it  amounted  in  the 
aggregate  to  a  heart-breaking  amount — almost 
enough  to  support  his  family — but  a  man  lost  his 
luck  when  he  turned  a  hobo  down  and  Old  Bunk 
decided  against  it.  Never  again,  he  resolved,  would 
he  restrain  his  good  wife  from  following  the  dic 
tates  of  her  heart,  and  that  meant  that  every  hobo 
that  walked  into  town  would  get  a  square  meal  in 
his  kitchen.  Where  the  cash  was  coming  from  to 
buy  this  expensive  food  and  pay  for  the  freighting 
across  the  desert  was  a  matter  for  the  future  to 
decide,  but  as  he  dwelt  on  his  problem  a  sudden  ray 
of  hope  roused  Bunker  Hill  from  his  reverie. 
Speaking  of  money,  the  ex-hobo,  walking  along  in 
front  of  him,  had  over  eight  hundred  dollars  in  his 
hip  pocket — and  he  claimed  to  be  a  miner! 

"Say!"  began  Bunker  as  they  came  in  sight  of 
town,  "d'ye  see  those  old  workings  over  there? 
That's  the  site  of  the  celebrated  Lost  Burro  Mine — 
turned  out  over  four  millions  in  silver!" 

"Yeah,  so  I've  heard,"  answered  Big  Boy  wearily, 
"been  closed  down  though,  for  twenty  years." 

"I'm  the  owner  of  that  property,"  went  on  Bun 
ker  pompously.  "Andrew  Hill  is  my  name  and 
I'd  be  glad  to  show  you  round." 

"Nope,"  said  the  future  prospect,  "I'm  too 
danged  tired.  I'm  going  down  to  the  crick  and 
rest." 

"Come  up  to  the  house,"  proposed  Bunker  Hill 
cordially,  "and  meet  my  wife  and  family.  I'm  sure 


22  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

Mrs.  Hill  will  be  glad  to  see  you  back — she  was 
afraid  that  something  might  happen  to  you." 

The  hobo  glanced  up  with  a  swift,  cynical  smile 
and  turned  off  down  the  trail  to  the  creek. 

"I  see  you've  got  your  eye  on  my  roll,"  he  ob 
served  and  Bunker  Hill  shrugged  regretfully. 


CHAPTER  IV 

CASH 

IT  was  evident  to  Bunker  Hill  that  no  common 
measures  would  serve  to  interest  this  young 
capitalist  in  his  district ;  and  yet  there  he  was,  a  big 
husky  young  miner,  with  eight  hundred  dollars  in 
his  pocket.  That  eight  hundred  dollars,  if  wisely 
expended,  might  open  up  a  bonanza  in  Final;  and 
in  any  case,  if  it  was  spent  with  him,  it  would  help 
to  pay  the  freight.  Old  Bunk  chopped  open  a  bale 
of  hay  with  an  ax  and  gave  his  horse  a  feed ;  and, 
after  he  had  given  his  prospect  time  to  rest,  he 
drifted  off  down  towards  the  creek. 

The  creek  at  Final  was  one  of  those  vagrant 
Western  streams  that  appear  and  disappear  at  will. 
Where  its  course  was  sandy  it  sank  from  sight, 
creeping  along  on  the  bed-rock  below;  but  where 
as  at  Final  the  bed-rock  came  to  the  surface,  then 
the  creek,  perforce,  rushed  and  gurgled.  From  the 
dark  and  windy  depths  of  Queen  Creek  Canyon  it 
came  rioting  down  over  the  rocks  and  where  the 
trail  crossed  there  was  a  mighty  sycamore  that 
almost  dammed  its  course.  With  its  gnarled  and 
swollen  roots  half  dug  from  their  crevices  by  the 
tumultuous  violence  of  cloudbursts,  it  clung  like 

23 


24  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

an  octopus  to  a  shattered  reef  of  rocks  and  sucked 
up  its  nourishment  from  the  water.  In  the  pool 
formed  by  its  roots  the  minnows  leapt  and  darted, 
solemn  bull-frogs  stared  forth  from  dark  holes,  and 
in  a  natural  seat  against  the  huge  tree  trunk  Big 
Boy  sat  cooling  his  feet.  He  looked  younger  now, 
with  the  blood  washed  off  his  face  and  the  hard 
lines  of  hunger  ironed  out,  and  as  Bunker  Hill  made 
some  friendly  crack  he  showed  his  white  teeth  in 
a  smile. 

"Pretty  nice  down  here,"  he  said  and  Bunker 
nodded  gravely. 

"Yes/'  he  said,  "nice  place  for  frogs.  Say,  did 
you  ever  hear  the  story  about  Spud  Murphy's  frog 
farm?  Well  Spud  was  an  old-timer,  awful  gallant 
to  the  ladies,  especially  when  he'd  had  a  few  drinks, 
and  every  time  he'd  get  loaded  about  so  far  he'd 
get  out  an  old  flute  and  play  it.  But  it  sounded  so 
sad  and  mournful  that  everybody  kicked,  and  one 
time  over  at  a  dance  when  Spud  was  about  to  play 
some  ladies  began  to  jolly  him  about  it. 

"  'Well,  I'll  tell  you/  says  Spud,  'there's  a  story 
connected  with  that  flute.  The  only  time  I  ever 
stood  to  make  a  fortune  I  spoiled  it  by  playing  that 
sad  music.' 

"  'Oh,  tell  us  about  it/  they  all  says  at  once;  so 
Spud  began  on  his  tale. 

"It  seems  he  was  over  around  Clifton  when  some 
French  miners  came  in  and,  knowing  their  weak 
ness,  Spud  dammed  up  the  creek  and  got  ready  to 
have  a  frog  farm.  He  sent  back  to  Arkansaw  and 


CASH  25 

got  three  carloads  of  bull-frogs — thoroughbreds  old 
Spud  said  they  was — and  turned  them  loose  in  the 
creek ;  and  every  evening,  to  keep  them  from  getting 
lonely,  he'd  play  'em  a  few  tunes  on  his  flute.  Well, 
they  were  doing  fine,  getting  used  to  the  dry  country 
and  beginning  to  get  over  being  homesick,  when  one 
night  Murph  went  up  there  and  played  them  the 
Arkansaw  Traveler. 

"Well,  of  course  that  was  the  come-on — Old 
Spud  stopped  his  story — and  finally  one  lady  bit. 

'  'Yes,  but  how  did  you  lose  your  fortune?'  she 
asks  and  Spud  he  shakes  his  head. 

"  'By  playing  that  tune/  he  says.  'Them  frogs 
got  so  homesick  they  started  right  out  for  Arkan 
saw — and  every  one  perished  on  the  desert/  ' 

''Huh !"  grunted  Big  Boy,  who  had  been  listening 
intolerantly.  "Say,  is  that  all  you  do— sit  around 
and  tell  stories  for  a  living?  Why  the  hell  don't 
you  git  out  and  work?" 

"Well,  you  got  me  again,  kid,"  admitted  Old 
Bunk  mournfully,  "I'm  sure  sorry  I  made  you  that 
talk.  But  I  was  so  doggoned  sore  at  that  pardner 
of  yours  that  I  kinder  went  out  of  my  head/' 

"Well,  all  right,"  conceded  Big  Boy,  "if  that's 
the  way  you  feel  about  it  there's  no  use  rubbing  it 
in,  but  you  certainly  lost  out  with  me.  My  hands 
may  be  big,  but  I  never  broadened  my  knuckles  by 
battering  on  other  people's  back  doors.  At  the  same 
time  if  I  have  to  ask  a  man  for  a  meal  I  expect 
to  be  treated  civil.  When  I'm  working  around  town 
and  a  miner  strikes  me  for  a  stake  I  give  him  a 


26  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

dollar  to  eat  on,  and  if  I  happen  to  be  broke  when 
I  land  in  a  new  camp  I  work  my  face  the  same 
way.  That's  the  custom  of  the  country,  and  when 
a  man  asks  me  why  I  don't  work " 

"Aw,  forget  it!"  pleaded  Bunker,  "didn't  I  ask 
your  pardon?  Didn't  my  wife  tell  you  why  I  said 
it?  But  I'll  bet  you,  all  the  same,  if  you'd  fed 
as  many  as  I  have  you'd  throw  a  fit  once  in  a  while, 
yourself.  Here's  the  whole  camp  shut  down,  only 
one  outfit  working  and  they're  just  running  a  dia 
mond  drill — and  at  the  same  time  I  have  to  feed 
every  hobo  that  comes  through,  whether  he's  got 
any  money  or  not.  How'd  you  like  to  buy  your 
grub  at  these  war-time  prices  and  run  a  hotel  for 
nothing,  and  at  the  same  time  keep  up  the  assess 
ment  work  on  fifteen  or  twenty  claims?  Maybe 
you'd  get  kind  of  peevish  when  a  big  bum  laid  in 
his  blankets  and  wouldn't  even  get  up  for  break 
fast!" 

"Ah,  that  man  Meacham!"  burst  out  Big  Boy 
scornfully.  "Say  do  you  know  what  that  yap  did 
to  me?  We  were  drilling  pardners  in  the  double- 
jack  contest — it  was  just  yesterday,  over  in  Globe — 
and  in  the  last  few  minutes  he  began  to  throw  off 
on  me,  so  I  had  to  win  the  money  myself.  Prac 
tically  did  all  the  work,  and  while  they  were  giving 
me  a  rub-down  afterwards  he  collected  the  money 
and  beat  it.  I'd  put  up  every  dollar  I  had  in  side 
bets,  and  the  first  prize  was  seven  hundred  dollars ; 
but  he  collected  it  all  and  then,  when  I  began  look 
ing  for  him,  he  took  out  over  this  trail.  Well,  I 


CASH  27 

was  so  doggoned  mad  when  I  found  out  what  he'd 
done  that  I  didn't  even  stop  to  eat,  and  I  followed 
him  on  the  run  until  dark.  When  I  ran  out  of 
matches  to  look  for  his  tracks  I  laid  down  and 
slept  in  the  trail  and  this  morning  when  I  got  up 
I  was  so  stiff  and  weak  that  I  couldn't  hardly  crawl. 
But  I  caught  the  big  jasper  and  believe  me,  old- 
timer,  he'll  think  twice  before  he  robs  me  again !" 

"He  will  that,"  nodded  Bunker,  "but  say,  tell  me 
this — ain't  half  of  that  money  his?" 

"Not  a  bean!"  declared  Big  Boy.  "We  fought 
for  the  purse,  the  winner  to  take  it  all.  He  saw  I 
was  weak  or  he'd  never  have  stood  up  to  me — that's 
why  he  was  so  sore  when  he  lost." 

"I'd  never've  let  him  hurt  you!"  protested  Old 
Bunk  vehemently,  "I  had  my  gun  on  him,  all  the 
time.  And  if  I'd  had  my  way  you'd  never  have 
fought  him — I'd  have  taken  the  purse  away  from 
him." 

"Yes,  that's  it,  you  see — that's  what  he  was  fish 
ing  for — he  wanted  you  to  make  it  a  draw!  But 
I  knew  all  the  time  I  could  lick  him  with  one  hand — 
and  I  did,  too,  and  got  the  money!" 

"You  did  danged  well !"  praised  Bunker  roundly, 
"I  never  see  a  gamier  fight;  but  I  thought  at  the 
end  he  sure  had  you  beat — you  could  hardly  hold  up 
your  hands." 

"All  a  stall!"  exclaimed  Big  Boy  proudly.  "I 
began  fighting  his  way  at  first,  but  I  saw  I  was  too 
weak  to  slug;  so,  just  for  a  come-on,  I  pulled  my 
blows  and  when  be  made  a  swing  I  downed  him." 


s8  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

"Well,  well!"  beamed  Old  Bunk,  "you  certainly 
are  a  wise  one — you  know  how  to  use  your  head. 
I  wouldn't  have  believed  it,  but  if  you're  as  smart 
as  all  that  you've  got  no  business  working  as  a 
miner.  You've  got  a  little  stake — why  don't  you 
buy  a  claim  and  make  a  play  for  big  money  ?  Look 
at  the  rich  men  in  the  West — take  Clark  and 
Douglas  and  Wingfield — how  did  they  all  get  their 
money?  Every  one  of  them  made  it  out  of  mining. 
Some  started  in  as  bankers,  or  store-keepers  or 
saloon-keepers;  but  they  got  their  big  money,  just 
the  same  as  you  or  I  will,  out  of  a  four-by-six  hole 
in  the  ground.  That's  the  way  I  dope  it  out  and 
I've  spent  fifteen  years  of  my  life  just  playing  that 
system  to  win.  Me  and  old  Bible-Back  Murray, 
the  store-keeper  down  in  Moroni,  have  been  work 
ing  in  this  district  for  years;  and,  sooner  or  later, 
one  or  the  other  of  us  will  strike  it  and  we'll  pile 
up  our  everlasting  fortunes.  I  hate  the  Mormon- 
faced  old  dastard,  he's  such  a  sanctified  old  hypo 
crite,  but  I  always  treat  him  white  and  if  his  dia 
mond  drill  hits  copper  he'll  make  the  two  of  us 
rich.  Anyhow,  that's  what  I'm  waiting  for." 

Big  Boy  looked  up  at  the  striated  hills  which  lay 
like  a  section  of  layer  cake  between  the  base  of  the 
mountains  and  the  creek  and  then  he  shook  his 
head. 

"Nope,"  he  said,  "it  don't  look  good  to  me.  The 
formation  runs  too  regular.  What  you  need  for  a 
big  mineral  deposit  is  some  fissure  veins,  where  the 
country  has  been  busted  up  more." 


CASH  29 

"Oh,  it  don't  look  like  a  mineral  country  at  all, 
eh?"  enquired  Bunker  Hill  sarcastically.  "Well, 
how  do  you  figure  it  out  then  that  they  took  out 
four  million  dollars'  worth  of  silver  from  that  little 
hill  right  up  the  creek?" 

"Don't  know,"  answered  Big  Boy,  "but  you 
couldn't  work  it  now,  with  silver  down  to  fifty- 
two  cents.  It's  copper  that's  the  high  card  now." 

"Yes,  and  look  what  happened  to  copper  when 
the  war  broke  out?"  cried  Bunker  Hill  derisively, 
"it  went  down  to  eleven  cents.  But  is  it  down  to 
eleven  now?  Well,  not  so  you'd  notice  it — thirty- 
one  would  be  more  like  it — and  all  on  account  of 
the  metal  trust.  They  smashed  copper  down,  then 
bought  it  all  up,  and  now  they're  boosting  the  price. 
Well,  they'll  do  the  same  with  silver." 

"Aw,  you're  crazy,"  came  back  Big  Boy,  "they 
need  copper  to  make  munitions  to  sell  to  those 
nations  over  in  Europe;  but  what  can  you  make 
out  of  silver?" 

"Oh,  nothing,"  jeered  Bunker,  "but  I'll  tell  you 
what  you  can  do — you  can  use  it  to  pay  for  your 
copper!  You  hadn't  figured  that  out,  now  had 
you  ?  Well,  here  now,  let  me  tell  you  a  few  things. 
These  people  that  are  running  the  metal-buying 
trust  are  smart,  see — they  look  way  ahead.  They 
know  that  after  we've  grabbed  all  the  gold  away 
from  Europe  those  nations  will  have  to  have  some 
other  metal  to  stand  behind  their  money — and  that 
metal  is  going  to  be  silver.  The  big  operators  up  in 
Tonopah  ain't  selling  their  silver  now,  they're  stor- 


30  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

ing  it  away  in  vaults,  because  they  know  in  a  little 
while  all  the  nations  in  the  world  are  going  to  be 
bidding  for  silver.  And  say,  do  you  see  that  line 
of  hills?  There's  silver  enough  buried  underneath 
them  to  pay  the  national  debt  of  the  world/' 

He  paused  and  nodded  his  head  impressively  and 
Big  Boy  broke  into  a  grin. 

"Say,"  he  said,  "you  must  have  some  claim  for 
sale,  like  an  old  feller  I  met  over  in  New  Mex. 

"  'W'y,  young  man,'  he  says  when  I  wouldn't  bite, 
'you're  passing  up  the  United  States  Mint.  If  you 
had  Niagara  Falls  to  furnish  the  power,  and  all 
hell  to  run  the  blast  furnace,  and  the  whole  State 
of  Texas  for  a  dump,  you  couldn't  extract  the  cop 
per  from  that  property  inside  of  a  million  years. 
It's  big,  I'm  telling  you,  it's  big !'  And  all  he  wanted 
for  his  claim  was  a  thousand  dollars,  down." 

"Aw,  you  make  me  tired,"  confessed  Bunker  Hill 
frankly,  now  that  he  saw  his  sale  gone  glimmering, 
"I  see  you're  never  going  to  get  very  far.  You'll 
tramp  back  to  Globe  and  blow  in  your  money  and 
go  back  to  polishing  a  drill.  W'y,  a  young  man  like 
you,  if  he  had  any  ambition,  could  buy  one  of  these 
claims  for  little  or  nothing  and  maybe  make  a  for 
tune.  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do — you  stay  around 
here  a  while  and  look  at  some  of  my  claims;  and 
if  you  see  something  you  like " 

"Nope,"  said  Big  Boy,  "you  can't  work  me  now 
— you  lost  your  horse-shoe  this  morning.  I  was  a 
hobo  then  and  you  told  me  to  go  to  hell,  but  now 
when  you  see  I've  got  eight  hundred  dollars  you're 


CASH  31 

trying  to  bunco  me  out  of  it.  I  know  who  you 
are,  I've  heard  the  boys  tell  about  you — you're  one 
of  these  blue-bellied  Yankees  that  try  to  make  a 
living  swapping  jack-knives.  You  got  your  name 
from  that  Bunker  Hill  monument  and  they  short 
ened  it  down  to  Bunk.  Well,  you  lose — that's  all 
I'll  say;  I  wouldn't  buy  your  claims  if  they  showed 
twenty  dollar  gold  pieces,  with  everything  on  'em 
but  the  eagle-tail.  And  the  formation  is  no  good 
here,  anyhow." 

"Oh,  it  ain't,  hey?"  came  back  Bunk  thrusting 
out  his  jaw  belligerently,  "well  take  a  look  up  at 
that  cliff.  That  Apache  Leap  is  solid  por 
phyry " 

"Apache  Leap!"  broke  in  Big  Boy  suddenly  sit 
ting  erect  and  looking  all  around,  "by  grab,  is  this 
the  place?" 

"This  is  the  place,"  replied  Old  Bunk  wagging 
his  head  and  smiling  wisely,  "and  that  cap  is  solid 
porphyry." 

"Gee,  boys!"  exclaimed  Big  Boy  getting  up  on 
his  feet,  "say,  is  that  where  they  killed  all  those 
Indians?" 

"The  very  place,"  returned  Bunker  Hill  proudly, 
"you  can  find  their  skeletons  there  to  this  day." 

"Well,  for  cripe's  sake,"  murmured  Big  Boy  at 
last  and  looked  up  at  the  cliff  again. 

"Some  jump-off,"  observed  Bunker,  but  Big  Boy 
did  not  hear  him — he  was  looking  up  at  the  sun. 

"Say,"  he  said,  "when  the  sun  rises  in  the  morn 
ing  how  far  out  does  that  shadow  come?" 


32  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

"What  shadow?''  demanded  Bunker  Hill.  "Oh, 
of  Apache  Leap?  It  goes  way  out  west  of  town." 

"And  does  it  throw  its  shadow  on  these  hills 
where  your  claims  are?  Well,  old-timer,  I'll  just 
take  a  look  at  them." 

He  climbed  out  purposefully  and  began  to  put  on 
his  shoes  and  Old  Bunk  squinted  at  him  curiously. 
There  was  something  going  on  that  he  did  not  know 
about — some  connection  between  the  Leap  and  his 
mines;  he  waited,  and  the  secret  popped  out. 

"Say,"  said  Big  Boy  after  a  long  minute  of 
silence,  "do  you  believe  in  fortune-tellers?" 

"Sure  thing!"  spoke  up  Bunker,  suddenly  taking 
a  deep  breath  and  swallowing  his  Adam's  apple  sol 
emnly,  "I  believe  in  them  phenomena  implicitly. 
And,  as  I  was  about  to  say,  you  can  have  any  claim 
I've  got  for  eight  hundred  dollars — cash." 


CHAPTER  V 

MOTHER   TRIGEDGO 

"TT7-ELL,  I'll  tell  you,"  confided  Big  Boy,  mov- 
VV  ing  closer  to  Old  Bunk  and  lowering  his 
voice  mysteriously,  "I  know  you'll  think  I'm  crazy, 
but  there's  something  to  that  stuff.  Maybe  we  don't 
understand  it,  and  of  course  there's  a  lot  of  fakes, 
but  I  got  this  from  Mother  Trigedgo.  She's  that 
Cornish  seeress,  that  predicted  the  big  cave  in  the 
stope  of  the  Last  Chance  mine,  and  now  I  know 
she's  good.  She  tells  fortunes  by  cards  and  by  pour 
ing  water  in  your  hand  and  going  into  a  trance. 
Then  she  looks  into  the  water  and  sees  a  kind  of 
vision  of  all  that  is  going  to  happen.  Well,  here's 
what  she  said  for  me — and  she  wrote  it  down  on  a 
paper. 

"  'You  will  soon  make  a  journey  to  the  west  and 
there,  in  the  shadow  of  a  place  of  death,  you  will 
find  two  treasures,  one  of  silver  and  the  other  of 

gold.    Choose  well  between  the  two  and " 

"By  grab,  that's  right,  boy !"  exclaimed  Old  Bunk 
enthusiastically,  "she  described  this  place  down  to 
a  hickey.  You  came  west  from  Globe  and  when  you 
went  by  here  the  shadow  was  still  on  those  hills; 
and  as  for  a  place  of  death,  Apache  Leap  got  its 

33 


34  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

name  from  the  Indians  that  jumped  over  that  cliff. 
Say,  you  could  hunt  all  over  Arizona  and  not  find 
another  place  that  came  within  a  mile  of  it!" 

"That's  right,"  mused  Big  Boy,  "but  I  was  think 
ing  all  the  time  that  that  place  of  death  would  be 
a  graveyard." 

"Sure,  but  how  could  a  graveyard  cast  a  shadow 
— they're  always  on  level  ground.  No,  I'm  telling 
you,  boy,  that  there  cliff  is  the  place — lemme  tell 
you  how  it  got  its  name.  A  long  time  ago  when 
the  Indians  were  bad  they  had  a  soldiers'  post  right 
here  where  this  town  stands,  and  they  kept  a  look 
out  up  on  the  Picket  Post  butte,  where  they  could 
heliograph  clear  down  to  Tucson.  Well,  every  time 
a  bunch  of  Indians  would  go  down  out  of  the  hills 
to  raid  some  wagon-train  on  the  trail  this  lookout 
would  see  them  and  signal  Tucson  and  the  soldiers 
would  do  the  rest.  It  got  so  bymeby  the  Indians 
couldn't  do  anything  and  at  last  Old  Cochise  got 
together  about  eight  hundred  Apaches  and  came 
over  to  wipe  out  the  post.  It  looked  easy  at  the 
time,  because  there  was  less  than  two  hundred  men, 
but  the  major  in  command  was  a  fighting  fool  and 
didn't  know  when  he  was  whipped.  The  Apaches 
all  gathered  up  on  the  top  of  those  high  cliffs — 
it's  flat  on  the  upper  side — and  one  ni^ht  when  their 
signal  fires  had  burned  down  the  soldiers  sneaked 
around  behind  them.  And  then,  just  at  dawn,  they 
fired  a  volley  and  made  a  rush  for  the  camp;  and 
before  they  knowed  it  about  two  hundred  Indians 
had  jumped  clean  over  the  cliff.  They  killed  the 


MOTHER  TRIGEDGO  35 

rest  of  them — all  but  two  or  three  bucks  that  fought 
their  way  through  the  line — and  now,  by  grab,  you 
couldn't  get  an  Indian  up  there  if  you'd  offer  him 
a  quart  of  whiskey.  It's  sure  bad  medicine  for 
Apaches." 

"Isn't  it  wonderful !"  exclaimed  Big  Boy,  "there's 
no  use  talking — this  sure  is  the  place  of  death.  And 
say,  next  time  you  go  over  to  Globe  you  go  and 
see  Mother  Trigedgo — I  just  want  to  tell  you  what 
she  did!" 

"All  right,"  sighed  Old  Bunk,  who  preferred  to 
talk  business,  and  he  settled  down  to  listen. 

"This  Mother  Trigedgo,"  began  Big  Boy,  "isn't 
an  ordinary,  cheap  fortune-teller.  Those  people  are 
all  fakes  because  they're  just  out  for  the  dollar 
and  tell  you  what  they  think  you  want  to  know. 
But  Mother  Trigedgo  keeps  a  Cousin- Jack  board 
ing  house  and  only  prophesies  when  she  feels  the 
power.  Sometimes  she  11  go  along  for  a  week  or 
more  and  never  tell  a  fortune;  and  then,  when  she 
happens  to  be  feeling  right,  she'll  tell  some  feller 
what's  coming  to  him.  Those  Cousin  Jacks  are 
crazy  about  what  she  can  do,  but  I  never  went  to 
a  seeress  in  my  life  until  after  we  had  that  big  cave. 
I'm  a  timber  man,  you  see,  and  sometimes  I  take 
contracts  to  catch  up  dangerous  ground;  and  the 
best  men  in  the  world  when  it  comes  to  that  work 
are  these  old-country  Cousin  Jacks.  They're  nervy 
and  yet  they're  careful  and  so  I  always  hire  'em; 
but  when  we  were  doing  this  work  down  in  the 
stope  of  the  Last  Chance,  they  began  talking  about 


36  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

Mother  Trigedgo.  It  seems  she'd  told  the  fortune 
of  a  boy  or  two — they  were  all  of  them  boarding 
at  her  house — and  she  was  so  worried  she  could 
hardly  cook  on  account  of  them  working  in  this 
mine.  It  was  swelling  ground  and  there  were  a 
lot  of  old  workings  where  the  timbering  had  given 
way;  and  to  tell  you  the  truth  I  didn't  like  it  my 
self,  although  I  wouldn't  admit  it." 

"Well,  it  was  the  twenty-second  of  April,  and  all 
that  morning  we  could  hear  the  ground  working 
over  head  and  when  it  came  noon  we  went  up 
above,  as  we  says,  for  a  breath  of  fresh  air.  But 
while  we  were  eating,  there  was  a  Cousin  Jack 
named  Chambers  fetched  up  this  old  talk  about 
Mother  Trigedgo,  and  how  she'd  predicted  he'd  be 
killed  in  a  cave  if  he  didn't  quit  working  in  the 
stope;  and  when  our  half-hour's  nooning  was  up  he 
says:  Til  not  go  down  that  shaft!' 

"We  were  all  badly  scared,  because  that  ground 
was  always  moving,  and  finally  we  agreed  that  we'd 
take  a  full  hour  off  and  work  till  five  o'clock.  Well, 
we  waited  till  after  one  before  we  went  to  the  collar 
and  just  as  I  was  stepping  into  the  cage  the  whole 
danged  stope  caved  in!" 

"Well,  sir,  I  went  back  to  my  room  and  got 
every  dollar  I  had  and  gave  Mother  Trigedgo  the 
roll.  I  could  easy  earn  more  but  if  I'd  been  caught 
in  that  cave  they'd  never  even  tried  to  dig  me  out. 
That  was  the  least  I  could  do,  considering  what 
she'd  done  for  me ;  but  Mother  Trigedgo  took  on  so 
much  about  it  that  I  told  her  it  was  to  have  my 


MOTHER  TRIGEDGO  37 

fortune  told.  Well,  she  tried  the  cards  and  dice 
and  consulted  the  signs  of  the  Zodiac ;  and  then  one 
day  when  she  felt  the  power  strong  she  poured  a 
little  water  in  my  hand.  That  made  a  kind  of  pool, 
like  these  crystal-gazers  use,  and  when  she  looked 
into  it  she  began  to  talk  and  she  told  me  all  about 
my  life.  Or  that  is,  she  told  me  what  she  thought 
I  ought  to  know,  and  gave  me  a  copy  of  the  Book 
of  Fate  that  Napoleon  always  consulted.  And  here 
it  ain't  three  months  till  I  make  this  journey  west 
and  find  the  place  she  prophesied." 

"Yes,  and  silver,  too!"  added  Old  Bunk  porten 
tously,  "she  hit  it,  down  to  a  hickey.  And  now, 
if  you'd  like  to  inspect  those  claims " 

"No,  hold  on,"  protested  Big  Boy  still  pondering 
on  his  fate,  "I've  got  to  find  these  treasures  my 
self.  And  one  of  them  was  of  gold.  What's  the 
chances  around  here  for  that?" 

"Danged  poor,"  grumbled  Bunker  as  he  saw  his 
hopes  gone  glimmering,  "don't  remember  to  have 
seen  a  color.  But  say,  old  Bible  Back  is  drilling  for 
copper  and  that's  a  good  deal  like  gold.  Same  color, 
practically,  and  you  know  all  these  prophecies  have 
a  kind  of  symbolical  meaning.  A  golden  treasure 
don't  necessarily  mean  gold,  and  I've  got  a 
claim " 

"Say,  who's  that  up  there?"  broke  in  Big  Boy 
uneasily  and  Old  Bunk  looked  around  with  a  jerk. 

An  old,  white-haired  man,  wearing  a  battered 
cork  helmet,  was  peering  over  the  bank  and  when 
he  perceived  that  his  presence  was  discovered  he 


38  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

came  shuffling  down  the  trail  He  was  a  short,  fat 
man,  in  faded  shirt  and  overalls;  and  on  his  feet 
he  wore  a  pair  of  gunboat  brogans,  thickly  studded 
on  the  bottom  with  hob-nails.  A  space  of  six  inches 
between  the  tops  of  his  shoes  and  the  worn-off  edge 
of  his  trousers  exposed  his  shrunken  shanks,  and 
he  carried  a  stick  which  might  serve  for  cane  or 
club  as  circumstances  demanded.  He  came  down 
briskly  with  his  broad  toes  turned  out  in  grotesque 
resemblance  to  a  duck  and  when  Bunker  Hill  saw 
him  he  snorted  resentfully  and  rose  up  from  his 
seat. 

"Have  you  seen  my  burros?"  demanded  the  old 
man,  half  defiantly,  "I  can't  find  dose  rascals  no 
where.  Ah,  so;  here's  a  stranger  come  to  camp! 
Good  morning,  I'm  glad  to  know  you." 

"Good  morning,"  returned  Big  Boy  glancing 
doubtfully  at  Bunker  Hill,  "my  name  is  Denver 
Russell." 

"Oh,  excuse  me!"  spoke  up  Bunker  with  a  sar 
castic  drawl,  "Mr.  Russell,  this  is  Professor  Diflen- 
derfer,  the  eminent  buttinsky  and  geologist." 

"Ah — so !"  beamed  the  Professor  overlooking  the 
fling  in  the  excitement  of  the  meeting,  "I  take  it 
you're  a  mining  man?  Veil,  if  it's  golt  you're 
looking  for  I  haf  a  claim  up  on  dat  hill  dat  is  rich 
in  auriferous  deposits." 

"Yes,"  broke  in  Bunker  giving  Big  Boy  a  sly 
wink,  "you  ought  to  inspect  that  tunnel — it's  unique 
in  the  annals  of  mining.  You  see  the  Professor 
here  is  an  educated  man — he's  learned  all  the  big 


MOTHER  TRIGEDGO  39 

words  in  the  dictionary,  and  he's  learned  mining 
from  reading  Government  reports.  We're  quite 
proud  of  his  achievements  as  a  mining  engineer, 
but  you  ought  to  see  that  tunnel.  It  starts  into  the 
hill,  takes  a  couple  of  corkscrew  twists  and  busts 
right  out  into  the  sunshine." 

"Oh,  never  mind  him!"  protested  the  Professor 
as  Bunker  burst  into  a  roar,  "he  will  haf  his  choke, 
of  course.  But  dis  claim  I  speak  of " 

"And  that  ain't  all  his  accomplishments,"  broke 
in  Bunker  Hill  relentlessly,  "Mr.  Diffenderfer  is  a 
count — a  German  count — sometimes  known  as 
Count  No-Count.  But  as  I  was  about  to  say,  his 
greatest  accomplishments  have  been  along  tonsorial 
lines." 

A  line  of  pain  appeared  between  the  Profes 
sor's  eyes — but  he  stood  his  ground  defiantly. 
"Yes,"  went  on  Bunker  thrusting  out  his  jaw  in  a 
baleful  leer  at  his  rival,  "for  many  years  he  has 
had  the  proud  distinction  of  being  the  Champion 
Rough-Riding  Barber  of  Arizona." 

"Veil,  I've  got  to  go,"  murmured  the  Professor 
hastily,  "I've  got  to  find  dem  burros." 

He  started  off  but  at  the  plank  across  the  creek 
he  stopped  and  cleared  his  throat.  "Und  any  time," 
he  began,  "dat  you'd  like  to  inspect  dem 
claims " 

"The  Chamneen — Rough-Riding — Barber!"  re 
peated  Old  Bunk  with  gusto,  "he  won  his  title  on 
the  race-track  at  Tucson,  before  safety  razors  was 
invented." 


40  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

"Shut  up!"  snapped  the  Professor  and,  crossing 
the  plank  with  waspish  quickness,  he  went  squatter- 
ing  off  down  the  creek.  Yet  one  ear  was  turned 
back  and  as  Bunker  began  to  speak  he  stopped  in 
the  trail  to  listen. 

"He  took  a  drunken  cowboy  up  in  the  saddle 
before  him/'  went  on  Bunker  with  painful  distinct 
ness,  "and  gave  him  a  close  shave  while  the  horse 
was  bucking,  only  cutting  his  throat  three  times." 

"You're  a  liar !"  yelled  the  Professor  and,  stamp 
ing  his  foot,  he  hustled  vengefully  off  down  the 
trail. 

"Say,  who  is  that  old  boy?"  enquired  Big  Boy 
curiously,  "he  might  know  where  I'd  find  that 
gold." 

"Who— him?"  jeered  Bunker,  "why,  that  old 
stiff  wouldn't  know  a  chunk  of  gold  if  he  saw  it. 
All  he  does  is  to  snoop  around  and  watch  what  I'm 
doing,  and  if  he  ever  thinks  that  I've  picked  up 
a  live  one  he  butts  in  and  tries  to  underbid  me. 
Now  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do,  I'll  get  you  a  horse 
and  show  you  all  over  the  district,  and  any  claim 
I've  got  that  you  want  to  go  to  work  on,  you  can 
have  for  five  hundred  dollars.  Now,  that's  reason 
able,  ain't  it?  And  yet,  the  way  things  are  going, 
I'm  glad  to  let  you  in  on  it.  If  you  strike  some 
thing  big,  here  I've  got  my  store  and  mine,  and 
plenty  of  other  claims,  to  boot;  and  if  there's  a  rush 
I  stand  to  make  a  clean-up  on  some  of  my  other 
properties.  So  come  up  to  the  house  and  meet  my 


MOTHER  TRIGEDGO  41 

wife  and  daughter,  and  we'll  try  to  make  you  com 
fortable.  But  that  old  feller " 

"Nope,"  said  Big  Boy,  "I  think  I'd  rather  camp — 
who  lives  in  those  cave-houses  up  there?" 

He  jerked  his  head  at  some  walled-up  caves  in 
the  bluff  not  far  across  the  creek  and  Old  Bunk 
scowled  reproachfully. 

"Oh,  nobody,"  he  said,  "except  the  rattle-snakes 
and  pack-rats.  Why  don't  you  come  up  to  the 
house?" 

"I  don't  need  to  go  to  your  house,"  returned 
Big  Boy  defiantly.  "I've  got  money  to  buy  what  I 
need." 

"Yes,  but  come  up  anyway  and  meet  my  wife 
and  daughter.  Drusilla  is  a  musician — she's  studied 
in  Boston  at  the  celebrated  Conservatory  of 
Music " 

"I've  got  me  a  phonograph,"  answered  Big  Boy 
shortly,  "if  I  can  ever  get  it  over  here  from  Globe." 

"Well,  go  ahead  and  get  it,  then,"  said  Bunker 
Hill  tartly,  "they's  nobody  keeping  you,  I'm  sure." 

"No,  and  you  bet  your  life  there  won't  be,"  came 
back  Big  Boy,  starting  off,  "I'm  playing  a  lone 
hand  to  win." 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE   ORACULUM 

THE  palpitating  heat  lay  like  a  shimmering 
fleece  over  the  deserted  camp  of  Final  and 
Denver  Russell,  returning  from  Globe,  beheld  it  as 
one  in  a  dream.  Somewhere  within  the  shadow  of 
Apache  Leap  were  two  treasures  that  he  was  des 
tined  to  find,  one  of  gold  and  one  of  silver;  and 
if  he  chose  wisely  between  them  they  were  both  to 
be  his.  And  if  he  chose  unwisely,  or  tried  to  hold 
them  both,  then  both  would  be  lost  and  he  would 
suffer  humiliation  and  shame.  Yet  he  came  back 
boldly,  fresh  from  a  visit  with  Mother  Trigedgo 
who  had  blessed  him  and  called  him  her  son.  She 
had  wept  when  they  parted,  for  her  burdens  had 
been  heavy  and  his  gift  had  lightened  her  lot;  but 
though  she  wished  him  well  she  could  not  control 
his  fate,  for  that  lay  with  the  powers  above.  Nor 
could  she  conceal  from  him  the  portion  of  evil 
which  was  balanced  against  the  good. 

"Courage  and  constancy  will  attend  you  through 
life,"  she  had  written  in  her  old-country  scrawl; 
"but  in  the  end  will  prove  your  undoing,  for  you 
will  meet  your  death  at  the  hands  of  your  dearest 
friend." 

42 


THE    ORACULUM  43 

That  was  the  doom  that  hung  over  him  like  a 
hair-suspended  sword — to  be  killed  by  his  dearest 
friend — and  as  he  paused  at  the  mouth  of  Queen 
Creek  Canyon  he  wished  that  his  fortune  had  not 
been  told.  Of  what  good  to  him  would  be  the  two 
hidden  treasures — or  even  the  beautiful  young  artist 
with  whom  he  was  destined  to  fall  in  love — if  his 
life  might  be  cut  off  at  any  moment  by  some  man 
that  he  counted  his  friend  ?  When  his  death  should 
befall,  Mother  Trigedgo  had  not  told,  for  the  signs 
had  been  obscure ;  but  when  it  did  come  it  would  be 
by  the  hand  of  the  man  that  he  called  his  best 
friend.  A  swift  surge  of  resistance  came  over  him 
again  as  he  gazed  at  the  promised  land  and  he  shut 
his  teeth  down  fiercely.  He  would  have  no  friends, 
no  best  of  friends,  but  all  men  that  he  met  he  would 
treat  the  same  and  so  evade  the  harsh  hand  of  fate. 
Forewarned  was  forearmed,  he  would  have  no 
more  pardners  such  as  men  pick  up  in  rambling 
around;  but  in  this  as  in  all  else  he  would  play  a 
lone  hand  and  so  postpone  the  evil  day. 

He  strode  on  down  the  trail  into  the  silent  town 
where  the  houses  stood  roofless  and  bare,  and  as 
he  glanced  at  the  ancient  gallows-frame  above  the 
abandoned  mine  fresh  courage  came  into  his  heart. 
This  city  of  the  dead  should  come  back  to  life  if 
what  the  stars  said  was  true ;  and  the  long  rows  of 
adobes  now  stripped  of  windows  and  doors,  would 
awaken  to  the  tramp  of  miners'  boots.  He  would 
find  two  treasures  and,  if  he  chose  well  between 
them,  both  the  silver  and  the  gold  would  be  his. 


44  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

But  neither  wily  Bunker  Hill  nor  the  palavering 
Professor  should  pull  him  this  way  or  that;  for 
Mother  Trigedgo  had  given  him  a  book,  to  consult 
on  all  important  occasions.  It  was  Napoleon's  Ora- 
culum,  or  Book  of  Fate ;  and  as  Denver  had  glanced 
at  the  key — with  its  thirty-two  questions  covering 
every  important  event  in  human  life — a  thrill  of 
security  had  passed  over  him.  With  this  mysterious 
Oraculum,  the  Man  of  Destiny  had  solved  the  many 
problems  of  his  life;  and  in  question  thirteen,  that 
sinister  number,  was  a  test  that  would  serve  Denver 
well: 

"Will  the  FRIEND  I  most  reckon  upon  prove 
faithful  or  treacherous?" 

How  many  times  must  that  great,  aloof  man 
have  put  some  friend's  loyalty  to  the  test;  and  if 
the  answer  was  in  the  negative  how  often  had  he 
avoided  death  by  foreknowledge  of  impending 
treachery!  Yet  such  friends  as  he  had  retained 
had  all  proved  loyal,  his  generals  had  been  devoted 
to  his  cause;  and  with  the  aid  of  his  Oraculum  he 
had  conquered  all  his  enemies — until  at  last  the 
Book  of  Fate  had  been  lost.  At  the  battle  of  Leip- 
sic,  in  the  confusion  of  the  retreat,  his  precious 
Dream  Book  had  been  left  behind.  Kings  and  Em 
perors  had  used  it  since,  and  seeresses  as  well ;  and 
now,  after  the  lapse  of  a  hundred  years,  it  was  pub 
lished  in  quaint  cover  and  lettering,  for  the  guidance 
of  all  and  sundry.  And  Old  Mother  Trigedgo,  com 
ing  all  the  way  from  Cornwall,  had  placed  the  Book 
of  Fate  in  his  hands !  There  was  destiny  in  every- 


THE  ORACULUM  45 

thing,  and  this  woman  who  had  saved  his  life  could 
save  it  again  with  her  Oraculum. 

Denver  turned  to  the  Mexican  who,  with  two 
heavily-packed  mules,  stood  patiently  awaiting  his 
pleasure ;  and  with  a  brief  nod  of  the  head  he  strode 
down  the  trail  while  the  mules  minced  along  behind 
him.  Past  the  old,  worked-out  mine,  past  the 
melted-down  walls  of  abandoned  adobe  ruins,  he 
led  on  to  the  store  and  the  cool,  darkened  house 
which  sheltered  the  family  of  Andrew  Hill;  but 
even  here  he  did  not  stop,  though  Old  Bunk  beck 
oned  him  in.  His  life,  which  had  once  been  as  other 
people's  lives,  had  been  touched  by  the  hand  of  fate ; 
and  gayeties  and  good  cheer,  along  with  friendship 
and  love,  had  been  banished  to  the  limbo  of  lost 
dreams.  So  he  turned  across  the  creek  and  led  the 
way  to  the  cave  that  was  destined  to  be  his  home. 

It  was  an  ancient  cavern  beneath  the  rim  of  a  low 
cliff  which  overlooked  the  town  and  as  Denver  was 
helping  to  unlash  the  packs  Bunker  Hill  came  toil 
ing  up  the  trail. 

"Got  back,  hey?"  he  greeted  stepping  into  the 
smoke-blackened  cave  and  gazing  dubiously  about, 
"well,  it'll  be  cool  inside  here,  anyway." 

"Yes,  that's  what  I  figured  on,"  responded  Den 
ver  briefly,  and  as  he  cleaned  out  the  rats'  nests  and 
began  to  make  camp  Old  Bunk  sat  down  in  the  door 
way  and  began  a  new  cycle  of  stories. 

"This  here  cave,"  he  observed,  "used  to  be  oc 
cupied  by  the  cliff-dwellers — them's  their  hand- 
marks,  up  on  the  wall;  and  then  I  reckon  the 


46  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

Apaches  moved  in,  and  after  them  the  soldiers ;  but 
when  the  Lost  Burro  began  turning  out  the  ore, 
I'll  bet  it  was  crowded  like  a  bar-room.  Them  was 
the  days,  I'm  telling  you — you  couldn't  walk  the 
street  for  miners  out  spending  their  money — and 
a  cliff-house  like  this  with  a  good,  tight  roof,  would 
bring  in  a  hundred  dollars  a  night,  any  time  that 
it  happened  to  rain.  All  them  melted-down  adobes 
was  plumb  full  of  people,  the  saloons  were  running 
full  blast,  and  the  miner  that  couldn't  steal  ten  dol 
lars  a  day  had  no  business  working  underground. 
They  took  out  chunks  of  native  silver  as  big  as 
your  head,  and  it  all  ran  a  thousand  ounces  to  the 
ton,  but  even  at  that  them  worthless  mule-skinners 
was  throwing  pure  silver  at  their  teams.  They  had 
mounted  guards  to  ride  along  with  the  wagons  and 
keep  them  from  stealing  the  ore,  but  you  can  pick 
up  chunks  yet  where  them  teamsters  threw  them  off 
and  never  went  back  to  find  'em. 

"Did  you  ever  hear  how  the  Lost  Burro  was 
found?  Well,  the  name,  of  course,  tells  the  story. 
If  one  of  these  prospectors  goes  out  to  find  his 
burros  he  runs  across  a  mine;  and  if  he  goes  out 
the  next  day  to  look  for  another  mine  he  runs 
across  his  burros.  The  most  of  them  are  like  the 
old  Professor  down  here,  they  wouldn't  know  min 
eral  if  they  saw  it;  but  of  course  when  they  grab 
u;  a  chunk  of  pure  silver  and  start  to  throw  it  at 
a  jackass  they  can't  help  taking  notice.  Well,  that's 
the  way  this  mine  was  found.  A  prospector  that 
was  camping  here  went  up  on  that  little  hill  to 


THE  ORACULUM  47 

rock  his  old  burro  back  to  camp  and  right  on  top 
he  found  a  piece  of  silver  that  was  so  pure  you 
could  cut  it  with  your  knife.  That  guy  was  honest, 
he  gave  the  credit  to  his  burro,  and,  if  the  truth 
was  known,  half  the  mines  in  the  west  would  be 
named  after  some  knot-headed  jackass.  That's  how 
much  intellect  it  takes  to  be  a  prospector. " 

"No,  I'll  tell  you  what's  the  matter  with  these 
prospectors/'  returned  Denver  with  a  miner's  scorn, 
"they  do  everything  in  the  world  but  dig.  They'll 
hike,  and  hunt  burros  and  go  out  across  the  desert; 
but  anything  that  calls  for  a  few  taps  of  work 
they'll  pass  it  right  up,  every  time.  And  I'll  tell 
you,  old-timer,  all  the  mines  on  top  of  ground  have 
been  located  long  ago.  That's  why  you  hear  so 
much  about  'Swede  luck'  these  days — the  Swede 
ain't  too  lazy  to  sink. 

"That's  my  motto — sink !  Get  down  to  bed-rock 
and  see  what  there  is  on  the  bottom;  but  these 
danged  prospectors  just  hang  around  the  water- 
holes  and  play  pedro  until  they  eat  up  their  grub 
stakes." 

"Heh,  heh ;  that's  right,"  responded  Bunker  rem- 
iniscently,  "say,  did  you  ever  hear  of  old  Abe  Berg? 
He  used  to  keep  a  store  down  below  in  Moroni; 
and  there  was  one  of  these  old  prospectors  that 
made  a  living  that  way,  used  to  touch  him  up  regu 
lar  for  a  grub-stake.  Old  Abe  was  about  as  easy 
as  Bible-Back  Murray  when  you  showed  him  a  rich 
piece  of  ore  and  after  this  prospector  had  et  up  all 
his  grub  he'd  drift  back  to  town  for  more.  But  on 


48  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

the  way  in,  like  all  of  them  fellers,  he'd  stop  at 
some  real  good  mine;  and  after  he'd  stole  a  few 
chunks  of  high-grade  ore  he'd  take  it  along  to  show 
to  Abe.  But  after  a  while  Old  Abe  got  suspicious — 
he  didn't  fall  for  them  big  stories  any  more — and 
at  last  he  began  to  enquire  just  where  this  bonanza 
was,  that  the  prospector  was  reporting  on  so  favor 
able.  Well,  the  feller  told  him  and  Abe  he  scratched 
his  head  and  enquired  the  name  of  the  mine. 

"  Why,  I  call  it  the  Juniper/  says  the  old  pros 
pector  kind  of  innocent;  and  Abe  he  jumped  right 
up  in  the  air. 

"  'Veil,  dat's  all  right/  he  yells,  tapping  himself 
on  the  chest,  'but  here's  one  Jew,  I  betcher,  dat 
you  von't  nip  again!'  Get  the  point — he  thought 
the  old  prospector  was  making  a  joke  of  it  and  call 
ing  his  mine  the  Jew-Nipper!" 

"Yeah,  I'm  hep,"  replied  Russell,  "say  who  is  this 
feller  that  you  call  Bible-Back  Murray — has  he  got 
any  claims  around  here?" 

"Claims !"  repeated  Bunker,  "well,  I  guess  he  has. 
He's  got  a  hundred  if  I've  got  one — this  whole 
upper  district  is  located." 

"What — this  whole  country?"  exclaimed  Denver 
in  sudden  dismay,  "the  whole  range  of  hills — all 
that  lays  in  the  shadow  of  the  Leap  ?" 

"Jest  about,"  admitted  Bunker,  "but  as  I  told  you 
before,  you  can  have  any  of  mine  for  five  hundred." 

"Oh  hell,"  burst  out  Denver  and  then  he  roused 
up  and  a  challenge  crept  into  his  voice.  "Do  you 
mean  to  tell  me,"  he  said,  "that  he's  kept  up  his 


THE   ORACULUM  49 

assessment  work?  Has  he  done  a  hundred  dollars 
worth  of  work  on  every  claim?  No,  you  know 
danged  well  he  hasn't — you've  just  been  doing  lead- 
pencil  work." 

"That's  all  right,"  returned  Bunker,  "we've  got 
a  gentlemen's  agreement  to  respect  each  others 
monuments;  and  you'll  find  our  sworn  statements 
that  the  work  has  been  done  on  file  with  the  County 
Recorder." 

"Yes,  and  now  I  know,"  grumbled  Russell  re- 
belliously,  "why  the  whole  danged  district  is  dead. 
You  and  Murray  and  this  old  Dutchman  have  lo 
cated  all  the  ground  and  you're  none  of  you  doing 
any  work.  But  when  a  miner  like  me  blows  into 
the  camp  and  wants  to  prospect  around  he's  stuck 
for  five  hundred  dollars.  How'm  I  going  to  buy 
my  powder  and  a  little  grub  and  steel  if  I  give  up 
my  roll  at  the  start?  No,  I'll  look  this  country 
over  and  if  I  find  what  I  want " 

"You'll  pay  for  it,  young  man,"  put  in  Bunker 
Hill  pointedly,  "that  is,  if  it  belongs  to  me." 

"Well,  I  will  if  it's  worth  it,"  answered  Russell 
grudgingly,  "but  you've  got  to  show  me  your  title." 

"Sure  I  will,"  agreed  Bunker,  "the  best  title  a 
man  can  have — continuous  and  undisputed  posses 
sion.  I've  been  here  fifteen  years  and  I've  never 
had  a  claim  jumped  vet." 

"Who's  this  Bible-Back  Murray?"  demanded 
Denver,  "has  he  got  a  clean  title  to  his  ground?" 

"You  bet  he  has,"  replied  Bunker  Hill,  "and  he's 


50  SILVER  AND   GOLD 

got  my  name  as  a  witness  that  his  yearly  assessment 
work's  been  done." 

"And  you,  I  suppose,"  suggested  Denver  sarcas 
tically,  "have  got  his  name,  as  an  affidavit  man,  to 
prove  that  your  work  has  been  done.  And  when  I 
look  around  I'll  bet  there  ain't  a  hole  anywhere 
that's  been  sunk  in  the  last  two  years." 

"Yes  there  is!"  contradicted  Bunker,  "you  go 
right  up  that  wash  that  comes  down  from  them 
north  hills  and  you'll  find  one  that's  down  twelve 
hundred  feet.  And  there's  a  diamond  drill  outfit 
sinking  twenty  feet  a  day,  and  has  been  for  the 
last  six  months.  At  five  dollars  a  foot — that's  the 
contract  price — Old  Bible-Back  is  paying  a  hundred 
dollars  a  day.  Now — how  many  days  will  that 
drill  have  to  run  to  do  the  annual  work?  No, 
you're  all  right,  young  man,  and  I  like  your  nerve, 
but  you  don't  want  to  take  too  much  for  granted." 

"Judas  priest!"  exclaimed  Russell,  "twelve  hun 
dred  feet  deep?  What  does  the  old  boy  think  he's 
got?" 

"He's  drilling  for  copper,"  nodded  Bunker  sig 
nificantly,  "and  for  all  you  and  I  know,  he's  got 
it.  He's  got  an  armed  guard  in  charge  of  that  drill, 
and  no  outsider  has  been  allowed  anywhere  near 
it  for  going  on  to  six  months.  The  cores  are  all 
stored  awav  in  boxes  where  nobody  can  get  their 
hands  on  them  and  the  way  old  Bible-Back  is  sweat 
ing  blood  I  reckon  they're  close  to  the  ore.  But 
a  hundred  dollars  a  day — say,  the  way  things  are 
now  that'll  make  or  break  old  Murray.  He's  been 


THE  ORACULUM  51 

blowing  in  money  for  ten  or  twelve  years  trying 
to  develop  his  silver  properties ;  but  now  he's  crazy 
as  a  bed-bug  over  copper — can't  talk  about  anything 
else." 

"Is  that  so?"  murmured  Denver  and  as  he  went 
about  his  work  his  brain  began  to  seethe  and  whirl. 
Here  was  something  he  had  not  known  of,  an  ele 
ment  of  chance  which  might  ruin  all  his  plans; 
for  if  the  diamond  drill  broke  into  rich  copper  ore 
his  chance  at  the  two  treasures  would  be  lost. 
There  would  be  a  big  rush  and  the  price  of  claims 
would  soar  to  thousands  of  dollars.  The  country 
looked  well  for  copper,  with  its  heavy  cap  of  dacite 
and  the  manganese  filling  in  the  veins;  and  it  was 
only  a  day's  journey  in  each  direction  from  the 
big  copper  camps  of  Ray  and  Globe.  He  turned 
impulsively  and  reached  for  his  purse,  but  as  he 
was  about  to  plank  down  his  five  hundred  dollars 
in  advance  he  remembered  Mother  Trigedgo's 
words. 

"Choose  well  between  the  two  and  both  shall  be 
yours.  But  if  you  choose  unwisely,  then  both  will 
be  lost  and  you  will  suffer  humiliation  and  shame." 

"Say,"  blurted  out  Denver,  "your  claims  are  all 
silver — haven't  you  got  a  gold  prospect  any 
where?" 

"No,  I  haven't,"  answered  Old  Bunk,  his  eye  on 
the  bank-roll,  "but  I'll  accept  a  deposit  on  that  offer. 
Any  claim  I've  got — except  the  Lost  Burro  itself — 
for  five  hundred  dollars,  cash." 


S2  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

"How  long  is  that  good  for?"  enquired  Russell 
cautiously  and  Bunker  slapped  his  leg  for  action. 

"It's  good  for  right  now,"  he  said,  "and  not  a 
minute  after!" 

"But  I've  got  to  look  around,"  pleaded  Denver 
desperately,  "I've  got  to  find  both  these  treasures — 
one  of  silver  and  one  of  gold — and  make  my  choice 
between  them." 

"Well,  that's  your  business,"  said  Bunker  rising 
up  abruptly.  "Will  you  take  that  offer  or  not?" 

"No,"  replied  Denver,  putting  up  his  purse  and 
Old  Bunk  glanced  at  him  shrewdly. 

"Well,  I'll  give  you  a  week  on  it,"  he  said,  smil 
ing  grimly,  and  stood  up  to  look  down  the  trail. 
Denver  looked  out  after  him  and  there,  puffing  up 
the  slope,  came  Professor  Diffenderfer,  the  eminent 
buttinsky  and  geologist. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  EMINENT  BUTTINSKY 

THAT  there  was  no  love  lost  between  Bunker 
Hill  and  Professer  Diffenderfer  was  evident 
by  their  curt  greetings,  but  as  they  began  to  bandy 
words  Denver  became  suddenly  aware  that  he  was 
the  cause  of  their  feud.  He  and  his  eight  hundred 
dollars,  a  sum  so  small  that  a  shoestring  promoter 
would  hardly  notice  it ;  and  yet  these  two  men  with 
their  superfluity  of  claims  were  fighting  for  his 
favor  like  pawn-brokers.  Bunker  Hill  had  seen  him 
first  and  claimed  him  as  his  right;  but  Professor 
Diffenderfer,  ignoring  the  ethics  of  the  game,  was 
out  to  make  a  sale  anyway.  He  carried  in  one 
hand  a  large  sack  of  specimens,  and  under  his  arm 
were  some  weighty  tomes  which  turned  out  to  be 
Government  reports.  He  came  up  slowly,  panting 
and  sweating  in  the  heat,  and  when  he  stepped  in 
Bunk  was  waiting  for  him. 

"Oho,"  he  said,  "here  comes  the  Professor.  The 
only  German  count  that  ever  gave  up  his  title  to 
become  an  American  barber.  Well,  Professor, 
you're  just  the  man  I'm  looking  for — I  want  to 
ask  your  professional  opinion.  If  two  white-bellied 

53 


54  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

mice  ran  down  the  same  hole  would  the  one  with 
the  shortest  tail  get  down  first?" 

The  Professor  staggered  in  and  sat  down  heavily 
while  he  wiped  the  Sweat  from  his  eyes. 

"Mr.  Russell,"  he  began,  ignoring  the  grinning 
Bunker,  "  I  vant  to  expound  to  you  the  cheology 
of  dis  country — I  haf  made  it  a  lifelong  study." 

"Yes,  you  want  to  get  this,"  put  in  Bunker  sotto 
voce,  "he  knows  every  big  word  in  them  books." 

"I  claim,"  went  on  the  Professor,  slapping  the 
books  together  vehemently,  "I  claim  dat  in  dis  dis 
trict  we  haf  every  indication  of  a  gigantic  deposit 
of  copper.  The  morphological  conditions,  such  as 
we  see  about  us  everywhere,  are  distinctly  favorable 
to  metalliferous  deposition;  and  the  genetic  influ 
ences  which  haf  taken  place  later " 

"Well,  he's  off,"  sighed  Bunker  rising  wearily  up 
and  ambling  over  towards  the  door,  "so  long,  Big 
Boy,  I'll  see  you  to-morrow.  Never  could  under 
stand  broken  English." 

"Dat's  all  righd!"  spat  back  the  Professor  with 
spiteful  emphasis,  "I'm  addressing  my  remarks  to 
dis  chentleman!" 

"Ah— so!"  mimicked  Bunker.  "Veil,  shoodt  id 
indo  him!  And  say,  tell  him  about  that  tunnel! 
Tell  him  how  you  went  in  until  the  air  got  bad 
and  came  out  up  the  hill  like  a  gopher.  Took  a 
double  circumbendibus  and,  after  describing  a  para 
bola " 

"Dat's  all  righd!"  repeated  the  Professor,  "now 
— you  think  you're  so  smart — I'm  going  to  prove 


THE  EMINENT  BUTTINSKY         55 

you  a  liar !  I  heard  you  the  other  day  tell  dis  young 
man  here  dat  dere  vas  no  golt  in  dis  district.  Veil ! 
All  righd!  We  vill  see  now — joost  look!  Vat  you 
call  dat  now,  my  goot  young  friend  ?"  He  dumped 
out  the  contents  of  his  canvas  ore-sack  and  nodded 
to  Denver  triumphantly.  "I  suppose  dat  aindt  golt, 
eh!  Maybe  I  try  to  take  advantage  of  you  and 
show  you  what  dey  call  fools  gold — what  miner 
alogists  call  pyrites  of  iron?  No?  It  aindt  dat? 
Veil,  let  me  ask  you  vun  question  den — am  I  righd 
or  am  I  wrong?" 

"You're  right,  old  man,"  returned  Denver  eagerly 
as  he  held  a  specimen  to  the  light;  and  when  he 
looked  up  Bunker  Hill  was  gone. 

"You  see?"  leered  the  Professor  jerking  his 
thumb  towards  the  door,  "dot  man  vas  trying  to  do 
you.  He  don't  like  to  haf  me  show  you  dis  golt. 
He  vants  you  to  believe  dat  here  is  only  silver ;  but 
I  am  a  cheologist — I  know !" 

"Yes,  this  is  gold,"  admitted  Denver,  wetting 
the  thin  strip  of  quartz,  "but  it  don't  look  like 
much  of  a  vein.  Whereabouts  did  you  get  these 
specimens?" 

"From  a  claim  dat  I  haf,  not  a  mile  south  of 
here,"  burst  out  the  Professor  in  great  excitement; 
and  while  Denver  listened  in  stunned  amazement 
he  went  into  an  involved  and  sadly  garbled  expo 
sition  of  the  geological  history  of  the  district. 

"Yes.  sure."  broke  in  Denver  when  he  came  to  a 
pause,  "I'll  take  your  word  for  all  that.  What  I 
want  to  know  is  where  this  claim  is  located.  If  its 


56  SILVER  AND   GOLD 

inside  the  shadow  of  Apache  Leap,  I'll  go  down 
and  take  a  look  at  it;  but " 

"But  vat  has  the  shadow  of  the  mountain  to  do 
with  it?"  inquired  the  Professor  with  ponderous 
dignity.  "The  formation,  as  I  vas  telling  you,  is 
highly  favorable  to  an  extensive  auriferous  de 
posit " 

"Aw,  can  the  big  words,"  broke  in  Denver  im 
patiently,  "I  don't  give  a  dang  for  geology.  What 
I'm  looking  for  is  a  mine,  in  the  shadow  of  that  big 
cliff,  and " 

"Ah,  ah!  Yes,  I  see!"  exclaimed  the  Professor 
delightedly,  "it  must  conform  to  the  vords  of  the 
prophecy!  Yes,  my  mine  is  in  the  shadow  of 
Apache  Leap,  where  the  Indians  yumped  over  and 
were  killed." 

"Well,  I'll  look  at  it,"  responded  Denver  coldly, 
"but  who  told  you  about  that  prophecy?  It  kinder 
looks  to  me  as  if " 

"Oh,  veil,"  apologized  the  Professor,  "I  vas  joost 
going  by  and  I  couldn't  help  but  listen.  Because 
dis  Bunker  Hill,  he  is  alvays  spreading  talk  dat  I 
am  not  a  cheologist.  But  him,  now;  him!  Do  you 
know  who  he  is?  He  is  nothing  but  an  ignorant 
cowman.  Ven  dis  mine  vas  closed  down  I  vas  for 
some  years  the  care-taker,  vat  you  call  the  cus 
todian  of  the  plant;  and  dis  Bunker  Hill,  ven  I 
happened  to  go  avay,  he  come  and  take  the  job. 
I  am  a  consulting  cheologist  and  my  services  are 
very  valuable,  but  he  took  the  job  for  fifty  dollars 
a  month  and  came  here  to  run  his  cattle.  For  eight 


THE  EMINENT  BUTTINSKY         57 

or  ten  years  he  lived  right  in  dat  house  and  took 
all  dat  money  for  nothing ;  and  den,  when  the  Com 
pany  can't  pay  him  no  more,  he  takes  over  the  prop 
erty  on  a  lien.  Dat  fine,  valuable  mine,  one  of  the 
richest  in  the  vorld,  and  vot  you  think  he  done  with 
it  ?  He  and  Mike  McGraw,  dat  hauls  up  his  freight, 
dey  tore  it  all  down  for  junk!  All  dat  fine  ma 
chinery,  all  dem  copper  plates,  all  the  vater-pipe, 
the  vindows  and  doors — they  tore  down  everything 
and  hauled  it  down  to  Moroni,  vere  they  sold  it  for 
nothing  to  Murray! 

"Do  you  know  vot  I  would  do  if  I  owned  dat 
mine?"  demanded  the  Professor  with  rising  wrath. 
"I  vould  organize  a  company  and  pump  oudt  the 
vater  and  make  myself  a  millionaire.  But  dis  Bun 
ker  Hill,  he's  a  big  bag  of  vind — all  he  does  is  to 
sit  around  and  talk!  A  t'ousand  times  I  haf  told 
him  repeatedly  dat  dere  are  millions  of  dollars  in 
dat  mine,  and  a  t'ousand  times  he  tells  me  I  am 
crazy.  For  fifteen  years  I  haf  begged  him  for  the 
privilege  to  go  into  pardners  on  dat  mine.  I  haf 
written  reports,  describing  the  cheology  of  dis  dis 
trict,  for  the  highest  mining  journals  in  the  country; 
I  haf  tried  to  interest  outside  capital ;  and  den,  for 
my  pay,  when  some  chentleman  comes  to  camp,  he 
tells  him  dat  I  am  a  barber !" 

The  Professor  paused  and  swallowed  fiercely, 
and  as  Denver  broke  into  a  grin  the  old  man  choked 
with  fury. 

"Do  you  know  what  dat  man  has  been?"  he 
demanded,  shaking  a  trembling  finger  towards 


58  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

Bunker's  house,  "he  has  been  everything  but  an 
honest  man — a  faro-dealer,  a  crook,  a  gambler !  He 
vas  nothing — a  bum — when  his  vife  heard  about 
him  and  come  here  from  Boston  to  marry  him !  Dey 
vas  boy-und-girl  sveetheart,  you  know.  And 
righdt  avay  he  took  her  money  and  put  it  into  cows, 
and  the  drought  come  along  and  killed  them;  and 
now  he  has  nothing,  not  so  much  as  I  haf,  and  an 
expensive  daughter  besides!" 

He  paused  and  wagged  his  head  and  indulged  in 
a  senile  grin. 

"Und  pretty,  too — vat?  The  boys  are  all  crazy, 
but  she  von't  have  a  thing  to  do  with  them.  She  von't 
come  outdoors  when  the  cowboys  ride  by  and  stop 
to  buy  grub  at  the  store.  No,  she's  too  good  to  talk 
to  old  mens  like  me,  and  with  cowboys  what  get 
forty  a  month ;  but  she  spends  all  her  time  playing 
tunes  on  the  piano  and  singing  scales  avay  up  in  G. 
You  vait,  pretty  soon  you  hear  her  begin — dat  scale- 
singing  drives  me  madt !" 

"Oh,  sings  scales,  eh?"  said  Denver  suddenly 
beginning  to  take  an  interest,  "must  be  studying  to 
become  a  singer." 

"Dat's  it,"  nodded  the  old  man  shaking  his  finger 
solemnly,  "her  mother  vas  a  singer  before  her.  But 
after  they  have  spent  all  their  money  to  educate  her 
the  teacher  says  she  lacks  the  temperament.  She 
can  never  sing,  he  says,  because  she  is  too  dumf; 
too — what  you  call  it — un-feeling.  She  lacks  the 
fire  of  the  vender ful  Gadski — she  has  not  the 
g-great  heart  of  Schumann-Heink.  She  is  an 


THE  EMINENT  BUTTINSKY         59 

American,  you  see,  and  dat  is  the  end  of  it,  so  all 
their  money  is  spent." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  defended  Denver  warmly, 
"what's  the  matter  with  Nordica,  and  Mary  Gar 
den  and  Farrar  ?  They're  Americans,  all  right,  and 
I've  got  some  of  their  records  that  simply  can't  be 
beat!  You  wait  till  I  get  out  my  instrument." 

He  broke  open  a  box  in  which  was  packed  with 
many  wrappings  a  polished  and  expensive  phono 
graph,  but  as  he  was  clearing  a  space  on  a  ricketty 
old  table  the  Professor  broke  into  a  cackle. 

"Dere !  Dere !"  he  cried,  "don't  you  hear  her  now? 
'Ah,  ah,  ah,  oo,  oo,  oo,  oo!'  Veil,  dat's  what  we 
get  from  morning  till  night — by  golly,  it  makes  me 
sick!" 

"Aw,  that's  all  right,"  said  Denver  after  listen 
ing  critically,  "she's  just  getting  ready  to  sing." 

"Getting  ready!"  sneered  the  Professor,  "don't 
you  fool  yourself  dere — she'll  keep  dat  going  for 
hours.  And  in  the  morning  she  puts  on  just  one 
thin  white  dress  and  dances  barefoot  in  the  garden. 
I  come  by  dere  one  time  and  looked  over  the  vail — 
and,  psst,  listen,  she  don't  vare  no  corsets!  She 
ought  to  be  ashamed." 

"Well,  what  about  you,  you  danged  old  stiff?" 
inquired  Denver  with  ill-concealed  scorn.  "If  Old 
Bunk  had  seen  you  he'd  have  killed  you." 

"Ah— him?"  scoffed  the  Professor,  "no,  he  von't 
hurt  nobody.  Lemme  tell  you  something — now  dis 
is  a  fact.  When  he  married  his  vife — and  she's  an 
awful  fine  lady — all  she  asked  vas  dat  he'd  stop  his 


6o  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

tammed  fighting.  You  see?  I  know  everyt'ing — 
every  little  t'ing — I  been  around  dis  place  too  long. 
She  came  right  out  here  from  the  East  and  offered 
to  marry  him,  but  he  had  to  give  up  his  fighting. 
He  was  a  bad  man — you  see?  He  was  quick  with 
a  gun,  and  she  was  afraid  he'd  go  out  and  get  killed. 
So  I  laugh  at  him  now  and  he  goes  avay  and  leaves 
me — but  he  von't  let  me  talk  with  his  vife.  She's 
an  awful  nice  woman  but " 

"Danged  right  she  is!"  put  in  Denver  with  sud 
den  warmth  and  after  a  rapid  questioning  glance 
the  Professor  closed  his  mouth. 

"Veil,  I  guess  I'll  be  going,"  he  said  at  last 
and  Denver  did  not  urge  him  to  stay. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  SILVER  TREASURE 

AS  evening  came  on  and  the  red  eye  of  the  sun 
winked  and  closed  behind  a  purple  range  of 
mountains  Denver  Russell  came  out  of  his  cliff- 
dwelling  cave  and  looked  at  the  old  town  below. 
Mysterious  shadows  were  gathering  among  the 
ruins,  the  white  walls  stood  out  ghostly  and  still, 
and  as  a  breeze  stirred  the  clacking  leaves  of  the 
sycamores  a  voice  mounted  up  like  a  bird's.  It 
rose  slowly  and  descended,  it  ran  rippling  arpeggios 
and  lingered  in  flute-like  trills ;  but  it  was  colorless, 
impersonal,  void  of  feeling. 

It  was  more  like  a  flute  than  like  the  voice  of  a 
bird  that  pours  out  its  soul  for  joy;  it  was  perfect, 
but  it  was  not  moving.  Only  as  the  spirit  of  the 
desolate  town — as  of  some  lost  soul,  pure  and  pas 
sionless — did  it  find  its  note  of  appeal  and  Denver 
sighed  and  sat  silent  in  the  darkness.  His  thoughts 
strayed  far  away,  to  his  boyhood  in  the  mountains, 
to  his  wanderings  from  camp  to  camp;  they  leapt 
ahead  to  the  problem  that  lay  before  him,  the  choice 
between  the  silver  and  gold  treasures;  and  then, 
drowsy  and  oblivious,  he  left  the  voice  still  singing 
and  groped  to  his  bed  in  the  cave, 

61 


62  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

All  night  the  prying  pack-rats,  dispossessed  of 
their  dwelling,  raced  and  gnawed  and  despoiled  his 
provisions;  but  when  the  day  dawned  Denver  left 
them  to  do  their  worst,  for  his  mind  was  on  greater 
things.  At  another  time,  when  he  was  not  so  busy, 
he  would  swing  some  rude  cupboards  on  wires  and 
store  his  food  out  of  reach ;  but  now  he  only  stopped 
to  make  a  hasty  breakfast  and  started  off  up  the 
trail.  When  the  sun  rose,  over  behind  Apache 
Leap,  and  cast  its  black  shadow  among  the  hills, 
Denver  was  up  on  the  rim-rock,  looking  out  on  the 
promised  land  that  should  yield  him  two  precious 
treasures. 

The  rim  where  he  stood  was  uptilted  and  broken, 
a  huge  stratified  wall  like  the  edge  of  a  layer  cake 
or  the  leaves  of  some  mighty  book.  They  lay  one 
upon  the  other,  these  ledges  of  lime  and  sandstone, 
some  red,  some  yellow,  some  white;  and,  heaped 
upon  the  top  like  a  rich  coating  of  chocolate,  was 
the  brownish-black  cap  of  the  lava.  In  ages  long 
past  each  layer  had  been  a  mud  bank  at  the  bottom 
of  a  tropic  sea,  until  the  weight  of  waters  had 
pressed  them  down  and  time  had  changed  them  to 
stone.  Then  Mother  Earth  had  breathed  and  in  a 
slow,  century-long  heave,  they  had  emerged  from 
the  bottom  of  the  sea,  there  to  be  broken  and  shat 
tered  by  the  pent-up  forces  of  the  fire  which  was 
raging  in  her  breast. 

Great  rents  had  been  formed,  igneous  rocks  had 
boiled  up  through  them ;  and  then  in  a  grand,  titanic 
effort  the  fire  had  forced  its  way  up.  For  centuries 


THE  SILVER  TREASURE  63 

this  extinct  volcano  had  belched  forth  its  lava, 
building  up  the  frowning  heights  of  Apache  Leap ; 
and  then  once  more  the  earth  had  subsided  and  the 
waters  of  the  ocean  had  rushed  in.  The  edge  of 
the  rim-rock  had  been  sheered  by  torrential  floods, 
erosion  had  fashioned  the  far  heights;  until  once 
more,  with  infinite  groanings,  the  earth  had  risen 
from  the  depths*  There  it  stayed,  cracking  and 
trembling,  as  the  inner  fires  cooled  down  and  the 
fury  of  the  conflict  died  away;  and  boiling  waters 
bearing  ores  in  solution  burst  like  geysers  from 
every  crack.  And  there  atom  by  atom,  combined 
with  quartz  and  acids,  the  metals  of  the  earth  were 
brought  to  the  surface  and  deposited  on  the  sides 
of  the  cracks.  Copper  and  gold  and  silver  and  lead, 
and  many  a  rarer  metal,  all  spewed  up  from  the 
molten  heart  of  the  world  to  be  sought  out  and  used 
by  man. 

All  this  Denver  sensed  as  he  gazed  at  the  high 
cliff  where  the  volcano  had  overflowed  the  earth, 
and  at  the  layers  and  layers  of  sedimentary  rock 
that  protruded  from  beneath  its  base ;  but  his  eyes, 
though  they  sensed  it,  cared  nothing  for  the  great 
Cause — what  they  looked  for  was  the  fruit  of  all 
that  labor.  Where  along  this  shattered  rim-rock, 
twisted  and  hacked  and  uptilted,  were  the  hidden 
cracks,  the  precious  fissure  veins,  that  h?  i  brought 
up  the  ore  from  the  depths?  There  ac  his  feet 
lay  one,  the  gash  through  the  rim  where  Queen 
Creek  took  its  course;  and  further  to  the  north, 
where  the  rim-rock  was  wrenched  to  the  west,  was 


64  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

another  likely  place.  To  the  south  there  was 
another,  a  deep,  sharp  canyon  that  broke  through 
the  formation  to  the  heights;  and  over  them  all, 
like  a  sheltering  hand,  lay  the  dark,  moving  shadow 
of  Apache  Leap.  He  traced  out  its  line  as  it  crept 
back  towards  the  town  and  then,  big  eyed  and  silent, 
he  started  down  the  trail,  still  looking  for  some  sign 
that  might  guide  him. 

But  other  eyes  than  his  had  been  sweeping  the 
rim  and  as  he  came  up  the  trail  Bunker  Hill  ap 
peared  and  walked  along  beside  him. 

"I'll  just  show  you  those  claims,"  he  said  smiling 
genially,  "it'll  save  you  a  little  time,  and  maybe  a 
pair  of  shoes.  And  just  to  prove  that  I'm  on  the 
square  I'll  take  you  to  the  best  one  first." 

He  led  on  up  the  street  and  as  they  passed  a 
stone  cabin  the  door  was  yanked  violently  open  and 
then  as  suddenly  slammed  shut. 

"That's  the  Dutchman,"  grinned  Bunker,  "he 
wakes  up  grouchy  every  morning.  What  did  you 
think  of  that  rock  he  showed  you?" 

"Good  enough,"  replied  Denver,  "it  was  rotten 
with  gold.  But  from  the  looks  of  the  pieces  it's 
only  a  stringer — I  doubt  if  it  shows  any  walls." 

"No,  nor  anything  else  much,"  answered  Bunker 
slightingly,  "you  can't  even  call  it  a  stringer.  It's 
a  kind  of  broken  seam,  going  flat  into  the  hill — 
the  Mexicans  have  been  after  it  for  years.  Every 
time  there's  a  rain  the  Professor  will  go  up  there 
and  wash  out  a  little  gold  in  the  gulch ;  but  a  China 
man  couldn't  work  it,  and  make  it  show  a  profit, 


THE  SILVER  TREASURE  65 

if  he  had  to  dig  out  his  ore.  Of  course  it's  all  right, 
if  you  think  gold  is  the  ticket,  but  you  wait  till  I 
show  you  this  claim  of  mine — next  to  the  famous 
Lost  Burro  Mine. 

"You  know  the  Lost  Burro — there  she  lays,  right 
there — and  they  took  out  four  million  dollars  in 
silver  before  the  bonanza  pinched  out.  At  first  they 
hauled  their  ore  to  the  Gulf  of  California  and 
shipped  it  to  Swansea,  Wales,  and  afterwards  they 
built  a  kind  of  furnace  and  roasted  their  ore  right 
here.  It  was  refractory  ore,  mixed  up  with  zinc 
and  antimony;  but  with  everything  against  them, 
and  all  kinds  of  bum  management,  she  paid  from 
the  very  first  day.  All  full  of  water  now,  or  I'd 
show  you  around ;  but  some  mine  in  its  time,  believe 
me.  I  wouldn't  sell  it  for  a  million  dollars." 

"Five  hundred  is  my  limit,"  observed  Denver 
with  a  grin  and  Bunker  slapped  his  leg. 

"Say,"  he  said,  "did  I  tell  you  that  story  about 
the  deacon  that  got  stung  in  a  horse-trade?  Well, 
this  was  back  east,  where  I  used  to  live,  before  I 
emigrated  for  the  good  of  the  country,  and  there 
was  an  old  Methodist  deacon  that  was  as  smart  as 
they  make  'em  when  it  came  to  driving  a  bargain. 
He  and  the  livery-stable  keeper  had  made  a  few 
swaps  and  one  was  about  as  sharp  as  the  other; 
until  finally  it  got  to  be  a  matter  of  pride  between 
'em  to  cut  each  other's  throats  in  some  horse-trade. 
They  would  talk  and  haggle,  and  drive  away  and 
come  back,  and  jockey  each  other  for  months;  but 
they  always  paid  cash  and  if  one  of  'em  got  stuck 


66  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

he'd  trade  the  horse  off  to  some  woman.  Well, 
one  day  the  livery-stable  man  drove  past  the  dea 
con's  house  with  a  fine,  free,  high-stepping  bay; 
and  every  afternoon  for  about  a  week  he'd  go  by 
at  a  pretty  good  clip.  The  deacon  he'd  rush  out 
and  try  to  flag  him,  but  the  livery-stable  keeper 
wouldn't  stop;  until  finally  the  deacon's  curiosity 
got  the  best  of  his  judgment  and  he  went  out  and 
laid  in  wait  for  him. 

"  'How  much  do  you  want  for  that  hoss  ?'  he 
says  when  the  livery-stable  man  came  to  a  stop. 

"  Two  hundred  dollars,'  says  the  livery-stable 
keeper. 

"  I'll  give  you  fifty !'  barks  the  deacon  coming 
out  to  look  him  over  and  the  livery-stable  man 
tossed  him  the  reins. 

"  'The  hoss  is  yours/  he  says,  and  the  deacon 
knowed  he  was  stung. 

"Quick  work,"  said  Denver,  "but  I'm  not  like  the 
deacon.  I'm  going  to  look  around." 

"Oh,  sure,  sure !"  protested  Bunker,  "take  all  the 
time  you  want,  but  this  offer  is  only  good  for  one 
week.  I've  got  a  special  reason  for  wanting  to 
make  a  sale  or  I'd  never  let  you  look  at  this  claim. 
Why,  the  Professor  himself  has  told  me  a  thousand 
times  that  it's  a  better  proposition  than  the  Burro, 
so  you  can  see  that  I  am  making  it  attractive.  And 
I  ain't  pretending  that  I'm  making  you  the  offer 
for  any  bull-con  reason.  I  might  say  that  I  wanted 
you  to  do  some  work,  or  to  open  up  the  district; 
but  the  fact  of  the  matter  is  I  need  the  five  hundred 


THE  SILVER  TREASURE  67 

dollars.  I've  seen  times  before  this  war  when  a 
hundred  thousand  cash  wouldn't  pry  me  loose  from 
that  claim,  but  now  it's  yours  for  five  hundred  dol 
lars  if  you  honestly  think  it's  worth  it.  And  if 
you  don't,  that's  all  right,  there's  no  hard  feeling 
between  us  and  you  can  go  and  buy  from  the  Pro 
fessor.  You  wasn't  born  yesterday  and  you're  a 
good,  hard-rock  miner;  so  enough  said,  there's  the 
claim,  right  there." 

He  waved  his  hand  at  the  steep  shoulder  of  the 
hill,  where  the  canyon  had  cut  through  the  rim- 
rock;  and  as  Denver  looked  at  the  formation  of 
the  ground  a  gleam  came  into  his  eyes.  The  claim 
took  in  the  silted  edge  of  the  rim,  where  the  strata 
had  been  laid  bare,  and  along  through  the  middle 
of  the  varicolored  layers  there  ran  a  broad  streak 
of  iron-red.  Into  this  a  streak  of  copper-stained 
green  had  been  pinched  by  the  lateral  fault  of  the 
canyon  and  where  the  two  joined — just  across  the 
creek — was  the  discovery  hole  of  the  claim. 

"Let's  go  over  and  look  at  it,"  he  said  and, 
crossing  the  creek  on  the  stones,  he  clambered  up 
to  the  hole.  It  was  an  open  cut  with  a  short  tunnel 
at  the  end  and,  piled  up  about  the  location  monu 
ment,  were  some  samples  of  the  rock.  Denver 
picked  one  up  and  at  sight  of  the  ore  he  glanced 
suspiciously  at  Bunker. 

"Where  did  this  come  from?"  he  asked  holding 
up  a  chunk  that  was  heavy  with  silver  and  lead, 
"is  this  some  high-grade  from  the  famous  Lost 
Burro?" 


68  SILVER  AND   GOLD 

"Nope,"  returned  Bunker,  "  'bout  the  same  kind 
of  rock,  though.  That  comes  from  the  tunnel  in 
there." 

"Like  hell!"  scoffed  Denver  with  a  swift  look  at 
the  specimen,  "and  for  sale  for  five  hundred  dol 
lars?  Well,  there's  something  funny  here,  some 
where." 

He  stepped  into  the  tunnel  and  there,  across  the 
face,  was  a  four  inch  vein  of  the  ore.  It  lay  be 
tween  two  walls,  as  a  fissure  vein  should;  but  the 
dip  was  almost  horizontal,  following  the  level  of 
the  uptilted  strata.  Except  for  that  it  was  as  ideal 
a  prospect  as  a  man  could  ask  to  see — and  for  sale 
for  five  hundred  dollars !  A  single  ton  of  the  ore,  if 
it  was  as  rich  as  it  looked,  ought  easily  to  net  five 
hundred  dollars. 

Denver  knocked  off  some  samples  with  his  pros 
pector's  pick  and  carried  them  out  into  the  sun. 

"Why  don't  you  work  this?"  he  asked  as  he 
caught  the  gleam  of  native  silver  in  the  duller  gray 
of  the  lead  and  Old  Bunk  hunched  his  shoulders. 

"Little  out  of  my  line,"  he  suggested  mildly,  "I 
leave  all  that  to  the  Swedes,  Say,  did  you  ever 
hear  that  one  about  the  Swede  and  the  Irishman — 
you  don't  happen  to  be  Irish,  do  you  ?" 

"No,"  answered  Denver  and  as  he  waited  for  the 
story  he  remembered  what  the  Professor  had  told 
him.  This  long,  gangly  Yankee,  with  his  drooping 
red  mustache  and  his  stories  for  every  occasion, 
was  nothing  but  a  store-keeper  and  a  cowman.  He 
knew  nothing  about  mining  or  the  value  of  mines 


THE  SILVER  TREASURE  69 

but  like  many  another  old-timer  simply  held  down 
his  claims  and  waited — and  to  cover  up  his  ignorance 
of  mining  he  told  stories  about  Irishmen  and  Swedes. 
"No,"  said  Denver,  "and  you're  no  Swede,  or  you'd 
drift  in  there  and  see  what  you've  got." 

"A  mule  can  work,"  observed  Bunker  oracularly, 
"but  here's  one  I  heard  sprung  on  an  Irishman.  He 
was  making  a  big  talk  about  Swedes  and  Swede  luck, 
and  after  he'd  got  through  a  feller  made  the  state 
ment  that  the  Swedes  were  the  greatest  people  in 
the  world. 

"  'In  the  wur-rold !'  yells  the  Irishman,  like  he 
was  out  of  his  head,  'well,  how  do  you  figure  thot 
out?' 

"  'Well,  I'll  tell  you/  says  the  feller,  'the  Swedes 
invented  the  wheel-barrow — and  then  they  learned 
you  Irish  to  stand  on  your  hind  legs  and  run  it!' 
Har,  har,  har;  he  had  him  going  that  time — the 
Mick  couldn't  think  what  else  to  do  so  he  went  to 
heaving  bricks." 

"Yes — sure,"  nodded  Denver,  "that  was  one  on 
the  Irish.  But  say,  have  you  got  a  clean  title  to 
this  claim?  Because  if  you  have " 

"You  bet  I  have!"  spoke  up  Bunker,  now  sud 
denly  strictly  business ;  but  as  he  waited  expectantly 
there  was  a  shout  from  the  trail  and  Professor  Dif- 
fenderfer  came  rushing  up. 

"Oh,  I  heard  you !"  he  cried  shaking  a  trembling 
fist  at  Bunker.  "I  heard  vot  you  said  about  my  claim  I 
Und  now,  Mister  Bunk,  I'll  have  my  say — no,  sir, 


70  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

you  haf  no  goot  title.  You  haf  not  done  your  yearly 
assessment  vork  on  dis  or  any  oder  claims !" 

"Say,  who  called  you  in  on  this?'*  inquired 
Bunker  Hill  coldly.  "You  danged,  bat-headed 
Dutchman,  you  keep  butting  in  on  my  deals  and 
I'll  forget  and  bust  you  on  the  jaw!" 

His  long,  sharp  chin  was  suddenly  thrust  out, 
one  eye  had  a  dangerous  droop;  but  the  Professor 
returned  his  gaze  with  an  insolent  stare  and  a  tri 
umphant  toss  of  the  head. 

"Dat's  all  right !"  he  said,  "you  say  my  golt  mine 
is  a  stringer — I  say  your  silver  mine  is  nuttings. 
You  haf  no  title,  according  to  law,  but  only  by  the 
custom  of  the  country." 

"Well,  you  poor,  ignorant  baboon,"  burst  out 
Bunker  in  a  fury,  "what  better  title  do  you  want? 
The  claim  is  mine,  everybody  knows  it  and  acknowl 
edges  it;  and  I've  got  your  signature,  sworn  before 
a  notary  public,  that  the  annual  work  was  done !" 

"Just  a  form,  just  a  form,"  returned  the  Pro 
fessor  with  a  shrug,  "I  do  like  everyone  else.  But 
dis  claim  dat  I  haf — and  my  tunnel  on  the  hill — 
on  dem  the  vork  is  done.  And  now,  Mr.  Russell,  if 
you  haf  finished  looking  here,  I  will  take  you  to 
see  my  mine." 

"Well,  I  don't  know,"  began  Denver  still  gazing 
at  the  silver  ore,  "this  looks  pretty  good,  right 
here." 

"But  the  prophecy!"  exclaimed  the  Professor 
with  a  knowing  smirk,  "don't  it  tell  you  to  choose 
between  the  two?  And  how  can  you  tell  if  you 


THE  SILVER  TREASURE  71 

don't  even  look — whether  the  golt  or  the  silver  is 
better?" 

"Aw,  go  down  and  look  at  it!"  broke  in  Bunker 
Hill  angrily  as  Denver  scratched  his  head,  "go  and 
see  what  he  calls  a  mine — and  if  you  don't  come 
running  back  and  put  your  money  in  my  hand  you 
ain't  the  miner  I  think  you  are.  But  by  the  holy, 
jumping  Judas,  I'm  going  to  forget  myself  some 
day  and  knock  the  soo-preme  pip  out  of  this  Dutch 
man  !"  He  turned  abruptly  away  and  went  striding 
back  towards  the  town  and  the  Professor  leered  at 
Denver. 

"Vot  I  told  you?"  he  boasted,  "I  ain't  scared  of 
dat  mens — he  promised  his  vife  he  von't  fight!" 

"Good  enough,"  said  Denver,  "but  don't  work  it 
too  hard.  Now  come  on  and  let's  look  at  your 


mine." 


CHAPTER  IX 

BIBLE-BACK    MURRAY 

AS  a  matter  of  form  Denver  went  with  the  Pro 
fessor  and  inspected  his  boasted  mine  but  all 
the  time  his  mind  was  far  away  and  his  heart  was 
beating  fast.  The  vein  of  silver  that  Bunker  Hill 
had  shown  him  was  worth  a  thousand  dollars  any 
where;  but,  situated  as  it  was  on  the  next  claim 
to  the  Lost  Burro,  it  was  worth  incalculably  more. 
It  was  too  good  a  claim  to  let  get  away  and  as  he 
listened  perfunctorily  to  the  Professor's  patter  he 
planned  how  he  would  open  it  up.  First  he  would 
shoot  off  the  face,  to  be  sure  there  was  no  salting, 
and  send  off  some  samples  to  the  assayer ;  and  then 
he  would  drive  straight  in  on  the  vein  as  long  as 
his  money  lasted.  And  if  it  widened  out,  if  it 
dipped  and  went  down,  he  would  know  for  a  cer 
tainty  that  it  was  the  silver  treasure  that  good  old 
Mother  Trigedgo  had  prophesied.  But  to  carry  out 
the  prophecy,  to  choose  well  between  the  two,  he 
gazed  gravely  at  the  Professor's  strip  of  gold-ore. 
It  was  a  knife-blade  stringer,  a  mere  seam  of 
rotten  quartz  running  along  the  side  of  a  canyon; 
and  yet  not  without  its  elements  of  promise,  for  it 

72 


BIBLE-BACK  MURRAY  73 

was  located  near  another  big  fault.  In  geological 
days  the  rim-rock  had  been  rent  here  as  it  had  at 
Queen  Creek  Canyon  and  this  stringer  of  quartz 
might  lead  to  a  golden  treasure  that  would  far  sur 
pass  Bunker's  silver.  But  the  signs  were  all  against 
it  and  as  Denver  turned  back  the  Professor  read  the 
answer  in  his  eyes. 

"Veil,  vat  you  t'ink?"  he  demanded  insistently, 
"vas  I  right  or  vas  I  wrong?  Ain't  I  showed  you 
the  golt — and  I'll  tell  you  anodder  t'ing,  dis  mine 
vill  pay  from  the  start.  You  can  pick  out  dat  rich 
quartz  and  pack  it  down  to  the  crick  and  vash  out 
the  pure  quill  golt ;  but  dat  ore  of  Old  Bunk's  is  all 
mixed  oop  with  lead  and  zinc,  and  with  antimonia 
too.  You  vil  haf  to  buy  the  sacks,  and  pay  the 
freight,  and  the  smelter  charges,  too ;  and  dese  cus 
tom  smelters  they  penalize  you  for  everyt'ing,  and 
cheat  you  out  of  what's  left  Dey're  nutting  but 
a  bunch  of  t'ieves  and  robbers " 

"Aw,  that's  all  right,"  broke  in  Denver  impa 
tiently,  "for  cripe's  sake,  give  me  a  chance.  I 
haven't  bought  your  mine  nor  Bunk's  mine  either, 
and  it  don't  do  any  good  to  talk.  I'm  going  to  rake 
this  country  with  a  fine-tooth  comb  for  claims  that 
show  silver  and  gold,  and  when  I've  seen  'em  all 
I'll  buy  or  I  won't,  so  you  might  as  well  let  me 
alone." 

"Very  veil,  sir,"  began  the  Professor  bristling 
with  offended  dignity  and,  seeing  him  prepared  with 
a  long-winded  explanation,  Denver  turned  up  the 
hill  and  quit  him.  He  clambered  up  to  the  rim, 


74  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

dripping  with  sweat  at  every  step,  and  all  that  day, 
while  the  heat  waves  blazed  and  shimmered,  he 
prospected  the  face  of  the  rim-rock.  The  hot  stones 
burned  his  hands,  he  fought  his  way  through  thorns 
and  catclaws  and  climbed  around  yuccas  and  spiny 
cactus;  but  at  the  end  of  the  long  day,  when  he 
dragged  back  to  camp,  he  had  found  nothing  but 
barren  holes.  The  country  was  pitted  with  open 
cuts  and  shallow  prospect-holes,  mostly  dug  to  hold 
down  worthless  claims ;  and  the  second  day  and  the 
third  only  served  to  raise  his  opinion  of  the  claim 
that  Bunker  had  showed  him. 

On  the  fourth  day  he  went  back  to  it  and  pros 
pected  it  thoroughly  and  then  he  kept  on  around 
the  shoulder  of  the  hill  and  entered  the  country 
to  the  north.  Here  the  sedimentary  rim-rock  lay 
open  as  a  book  and  as  he  followed  along  its  face 
he  found  hole  after  hole  pecked  into  one  copper- 
stained  stratum.  It  was  the  same  broad  stratum 
of  quartzite  which,  on  coming  to  the  creek,  had 
dipped  down  into  Bunker's  claim ;  and  now  Denver 
knew  that  others  beside  himself  thought  well  of 
that  mineral-bearing  vein.  For  the  country  was 
staked  out  regularly  and  in  each  location  monument 
there  was  the  name  Barney  B.  Murray. 

The  steady  panting  of  a  gas-engine  from  some 
where  in  the  distance  drew  Denver  on  from  point 
to  point  and  at  last,  in  the  bottom  of  a  deep-cleft 
canyon,  he  discovered  the  source  of  the  sound. 
Huge  dumps  of  white  waste  were  spewed  out  along 
the  hillside,  there  were  houses,  a  big  tent  and  criss- 


BIBLE-BACK  MURRAY  75 

crossed  trails;  but  the  only  sign  of  life  was  that 
chuh,  chuh,  of  the  engine  and  the  explosive  blap, 
Haps  of  an  air  compressor.  It  was  Murray's  camp, 
and  the  engine  and  the  compressor  were  driving  his 
diamond  drill. 

Denver  looked  about  carefully  for  some  sign  of 
the  armed  guard  and  then,  not  too  noisily,  he  went 
down  the  trail  and  followed  along  up  the  gulch. 
The  drill,  which  was  concealed  beneath  the  big, 
conical  tent,  was  set  up  in  the  very  notch  of  the 
canyon,  where  it  cut  through  the  formation  of  the 
rim-rock ;  and  Denver  was  more  than  pleased  to  see 
that  it  was  fairly  on  top  of  the  green  quartzite.  He 
kept  on  steadily,  still  looking  for  the  guard,  his 
prospector's  pick  well  in  front;  and,  just  down  the 
trail  from  the  tented  drill,  he  stopped  and  cracked 
a  rock. 

"Hey!  Get  off  this  ground!'*  shouted  a  voice 
from  the  tent  and  as  Denver  looked  up  a  man 
stepped  out  with  a  rifle  in  his  hand.  "What  are 
you  doing  around  here?"  he  demanded  angrily  and, 
as  Denver  made  no  answer,  another  man  stepped 
out  from  behind.  Then  with  a  word  to  the  guard 
he  came  down  the  trail  and  Denver  knew  it  was 
Murray  himself. 

He  was  a  tall,  bony  man  with  a  flowing  black 
beard  and,  hunched  up  above  his  shoulders,  was 
the  rounded  hump  which  had  given  him  the  name 
of  "Bible-Back."  To  counterbalance  this  curvature 
his  head  was  craned  back,  giving  him  a  bristling, 
aggressive  air,  and  as  he  strode  down  towards  Den- 


76  SILVER  AND   GOLD 

ver  his  long,  gorilla  arms,  extended  almost  down 
to  his  knees. 

"What  are  you  doing  here,  young  man?"  he  chal 
lenged  harshly,  "don't  you  know  that  this  ground 
is  closed  ?" 

"Why,  no,"  bluffed  Denver,  "you  haven't  got 
any  signs  out.  What's  all  the  excitement  about?" 

Bible-Back  Murray  paused  and  looked  him  over, 
and  his  prospector's  pick  and  ore-sack,  and  a  glint 
came  into  one  eye.  The  other  eye  remained  fixed  in 
a  cold,  rheumy  stare,  and  Denver  sensed  that  it  was 
made  of  glass. 

"Who  are  you  working  for  ?"  rasped  Murray  and 
as  he  raised  his  voice  the  guard  started  down  the 
dump. 

"I'm  not  working  for  anybody,"  answered  Den 
ver  boldly,  "I'm  out  prospecting  along  the  edge  of 
the  rim." 

"Oh — prospecting,"  said  Murray  suddenly  mod 
erating  his  voice;  and  then,  as  the  guard  stood 
watching  them  narrowly,  he  gave  way  to  a  fatherly 
smile.  "Well,  well,"  he  exclaimed,  "it's  pretty  hot 
for  prospecting — you  can't  see  very  well  in  this 
glare.  Whereabouts  have  you  made  your  camp?" 

"Over  on  the  crick,"  answered  Denver.  "What 
have  you  got  here,  anyway?  Is  this  that  diamond 
drill?" 

"Never  mind,  now!"  put  in  the  guard  who,  an 
ticipating  a  call-down  for  his  negligence,  was  in  a 
distinctly  hostile  mood,  "y°u  know  danged  well 
it  is!" 


BIBLE-BACK  MURRAY  7? 

"Oh,  I  do,  do  I?"  retorted  Denver,  "well,  all  right 
pardner,  if  you  say  so;  but  you  don't  need  to  call 
me  a  liar !" 

He  returned  the  guard's  glare  with  an  insulting 
sneer  and  Murray  made  haste  to  intercede. 

"Now,  now,"  he  said,  "let's  not  have  any 
trouble.  But  of  course  you've  no  business  on  this 
ground." 

"That's  all  right,"  defended  Denver,  "that  don't 
give  him  a  license  to  pull  any  ranicky  stuff.  I'm  as 
peaceable  as  anybody,  but  you  can  tell  your  hired 
man  he  don't  look  bad  to  me." 

"That  will  do,  Dave,"  nodded  Murray  and  after 
another  look  at  Denver,  the  guard  turned  back  to 
wards  the  tent. 

"Judas  priest,"  observed  Denver  thrusting  out  his 
lip  at  the  guard,  "he's  a  regular  gun-fighting  boy. 
You  must  have  something  pretty  good  hid  away 
here  somewhere,  to  call  for  a  guard  like  that." 

"He's  a  dangerous  man,"  replied  Murray  briefly, 
"I'd  advise  you  not  to  rouse  him.  But  what  do  you 
think  of  our  district,  Mister — er " 

"Russell,"  said  Denver  promptly,  "my  name  is 
Denver  Russell.  I  just  came  over  from  Globe." 

"Glad  to  meet  you,"  answered  Murray  extending 
a  hairy  hand,  "my  name  is  B.  B.  Murray.  I'm  the 
owner  of  all  this  ground." 

"  'S  that  so?"  murmured  Denver,  "well  don't  let 
me  keep  you." 

And  he  started  off  down  the  trail. 

"Hey,  wait  a  minute!"  protested  Murray,  "you 


78  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

don't  need  to  go  off  mad.  Sit  down  here  in  the 
shade — I  want  to  have  a  talk  with  you/' 

He  stepped  over  to  the  shade  of  an  abandoned 
cabin  and  Denver  followed  reluctantly.  From  the 
few  leading  questions  which  Mr.  Murray  had  pro 
pounded  he  judged  he  was  a  hard  man  to  evade; 
and,  until  he  had  got  title  to  the  claim  on  Queen 
Creek,  it  was  advisable  not  to  talk  too  much. 

"So  you're  just  over  from  Globe,  eh?" 
began  Murray  affably,  "well,  how  are  things  over 
in  that  camp?  Yes,  I  hear  they  are  booming — 
were  you  working  in  the  mines  ?  What  do  you  think 
of  this  country  for  copper?" 

"It  sure  looks  good!"  pronounced  Denver 
unctuously,  "I  never  saw  a  place  that  looked  better. 
All  this  gossan  and  porphyry,  and  that  copper  stain 
up  there — and  just  look  at  that  dacite  cap !" 

He  waved  his  hand  at  the  high  cliff  behind  and 
Murray's  eye  became  beady  and  bright. 

"Yes,"  he  said  rubbing  his  horny  hands  together 
and  gazing  at  Denver  benevolently,  "we  think  the 
indications  are  good — were  you  thinking  of  locating 
in  these  parts?" 

"No,  just  going  through,"  answered  Denver 
slowly.  "I  was  camping  by  the  crick  and  saw  that 
copper-stain,  so  I  thought  I'd  follow  it  up.  How 
far  are  you  down  with  your  drill  ?" 

"Quite  a  ways,  quite  a  ways,"  responded  Murray 
evasively.  "You  don't  look  like  an  ordinary  pros 
pector — who'd  you  say  it  was  you  were  working 
for?" 


BIBLE-BACK  MURRAY  79 

DetiV£f  turned  and  looked  at  him,  and  grunted 
contemptuously. 

"J.  P.  Morgan,"  he  said  and  after  a  silence  Mur 
ray  answered  with  a  thin-lipped  smile. 

"That's  all  right,  that's  all  right/'  he  said  with 
a  cackle.  "No  hard  feeling — I  just  wanted  to  know. 
You're  an  honest  young  man,  but  there  are  others 
who  are  not,  and  we  naturally  like  to  inquire.  Are 
you  staying  with  Mr.  Hill  ?" 

"Well,  not  so  you'd  notice  it,"  replied  Denver 
brusquely.  "I'm  camped  in  that  cave  across  the 
crick." 

"Oh,  is  that  so?"  purred  Murray  driving  relent 
lessly  on  in  his  quest  for  information,  "did  he  show 
you  any  of  his  claims?" 

"He  showed  me  one,"  answered  Denver  and,  try 
as  he  would,  he  could  not  keep  his  voice  from 
changing. 

"Oh,  I  see,"  said  Murray  suddenly  smiling  tri 
umphantly,  "he  showed  you  that  claim  by  the 
creek." 

"That's  the  one,"  admitted  Denver,  "and  it  sure 
looked  good.  Have  you  got  any  interests  over 
there?" 

"Not  at  present,"  returned  Murray  with  a  touch 
of  asperity,  "but  let  me  tell  you  a  little  about  that 
claim.  You're  a  stranger  in  these  parts  and  it's 
only  fair  to  warn  you  that  the  assessment  work  has 
never  been  done.  He  has  no  title,  according  to 
law;  so  you  can  govern  your  actions  accordingly." 


8o  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

"You  mean/'  suggested  Denver,  "that  all  I  have 
to  do  is  to  go  in  and  jump  the  claim?" 

"Hell — no!"  exclaimed  Bible-Back  startled  out 
of  his  piosity.  "I  mean  that  you  had  better  not 
buy  it." 

"Well,  thanks,"  drawled  Denver,  "this  is  danged 
considerate  of  you.  Shall  I  tell  him  you'll  take  it 
yourself?" 

"Certainly  not!"  snapped  back  Murray,  "I've 
enough  claims,  already.  I'm  just  warning  you  for 
your  own  good." 

"Danged  considerate,"  repeated  Denver  with  a 
sarcastic  smile,  "and  now  let  me  ask  you  some 
thing.  Who  told  you  I  wanted  to  buy?" 

"Never  mind!"  returned  Murray,  "I've  warned 
you,  and  that  is  enough." 

"Well,  all  right,"  agreed  Denver,  "but  if  you 
don't  want  it  yourself " 

"Young  man!"  exclaimed  Murray  suddenly  ris 
ing  to  his  feet  and  crooking  his  neck  like  a  crane, 
"I  guess  you  know  who  I  am.  I  can  make  or  break 
any  man  in  this  country,  and  I'm  telling  you  now — 
don't  you  buy !" 

"I  get  you,"  answered  Denver,  and  without  argu 
ing  the  point  he  rose  up  and  went  down  the  trail. 


CHAPTER  X 

SIGNS  AND  OMENS 

WHEN  a  man  like  Bible-Back  Murray,  the 
biggest  man  in  the  country — a  sheep-owner, 
a  store-keeper,  a  political  power — goes  out  of  his 
way  to  break  up  a  trade  there  is  something  signifi 
cant  behind  it.  Denver  had  come  to  Final  in  re 
sponse  to  a  prophecy,  in  search  of  two  hidden  treas 
ures  between  which  he  must  make  his  choice;  and 
now,  added  to  that,  was  the  further  question  of 
whether  he  should  venture  to  oppose  Murray.  If 
he  did,  he  could  proceed  in  the  spirit  of  the  prophecy 
and  choose  between  the  silver  and  gold  treasures; 
but  if  he  did  not  there  would  be  no  real  choice  at 
all,  but  simply  an  elimination.  He  must  turn  away 
from  the  silver  treasure,  that  precious  vein  of  metal 
which  led  so  temptingly  into  the  hill,  and  take  the 
little  stringer  of  quartz  which  the  Professor  had 
offered  as  a  gold  mine.  Denver  thought  it  all  over 
out  in  front  of  his  cave  that  night  and  at  last  he 
came  back  to  the  prophecy. 

"Courage  and  constancy,"  it  said,  "will  attend 
you  through  life,  but  in  the  end  will  prove  your 
undoing,  for  you  will  meet  your  death  at  the  hands 
of  your  dearest  friend." 

81 


82  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

Denver's  heart  fell  again  at  the  thought  of  that 
hard  fate  but  it  did  not  divert  him  from  his  pur 
pose.  Mother  Trigedgo  had  said  that  he  should  be 
brave,  nevertheless — very  well  then,  he  would  dare 
oppose  Murray.  But  now  to  choose  between  the 
two,  between  the  Professor's  stringer  of  gold  and 
Bunker's  vein  of  silver — with  the  ill  will  of  Mur 
ray  attached.  Denver  pondered  them  well  and  at 
last  he  lit  a  candle  and  referred  it  to  Napoleon's 
Oraculum. 

In  the  front  of  the  Book  of  Fate  were  thirty-two 
questions  the  answers  to  which,  on  the  succeeding 
pages,  would  give  counsel  on  every  problem  of  life. 
The  questions,  at  first  sight,  seemed  more  adapted 
to  love-sick  swains  than  to  the  practical  problem 
before  Denver,  but  he  came  back  to  number  nine. 

"Shall  I  be  SUCCESSFUL  in  my  present  under 
taking?" 

All  he  had  to  do  was  to  decide  to  buy  the  silver 
claim  and  then  put  the  matter  to  the  test.  He 
spread  a  sheet  of  fair  paper  on  the  clear  corner  of 
his  table  and  made  five  rows  of  short  lines  across 
it,  each  containing  more  than  the  requisite  twelve 
marks.  Then  he  counted  each  row  and,  opposite 
every  one  that  came  even,  he  placed  two  dots;  op 
posite  every  line  that  came  odd,  one  dot.  This  made 
a  series  of  five  dots,  one  above  the  other,  of  which 
the  first  two  were  double  and  the  last  three  single, 
and  he  turned  to  the  fateful  Key. 

It  was  spread  across  two  pages,  a  solid  mass  of 
signs  and  letters,  arranged  in  a  curious  order;  and 


SIGNS  AND  OMENS  83 

along  the  side  were  the  numbers  of  the  questions, 
across  the  top  the  different  combinations  of  dots. 
Against  the  thirty-two  questions  there  were  thirty- 
two  combinations  in  which  the  odd  and  even  dots 
could  be  arranged,  and  Denver's  series  was  the  sev 
enth  in  order.  The  number  of  his  question  was 
nine.  Where  the  seventh  line  from  the  side  met 
the  ninth  from  the  top  there  occurred  the  letter  O. 
Denver  turned  to  the  Oraculum  and  on  the  page 
marked  O  he  found  thirty-two  answers,  each  starred 
with  a  different  combination  of  dots.  The  seventh 
answer  from  the  top  was  the  one  he  sought — it 
said: 

"Fear  not,  if  thou  are  prudent." 

"Good  enough!"  exclaimed  Denver,  shutting  the 
book  with  a  slap ;  but  as  he  went  out  into  the  night 
a  sudden  doubt  assailed  him — what  did  it  mean  by : 
"If  thou  art  prudent?" 

"Fear  not!"  he  understood,  it  was  the  first  and 
only  motto  in  the  bright,  brief  lexicon  of  his  life; 
but  what  was  the  meaning  of  "prudent?"  Did  it 
mean  he  was  to  refrain  from  opposing  Old  Bible- 
Back,  or  merely  that  he  should  oppose  him  within 
reason?  That  was  the  trouble  with  all  these 
prophecies — you  never  could  tell  what  they  meant. 
Take  the  silver  and  golden  treasures — how  would  he 
know  them  when  he  saw  them?  And  he  had  to 
choose  wisely  between  the  two.  And  now,  when 
he  referred  the  whole  business  to  the  Oraculum  it 
said:  "Fear  not,  if  thou  art  prudent." 

He  paced  up  and  down  on  the  smooth  ledge  of 


84  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

rock  that  made  up  the  entrance  to  his  home  and 
as  he  sunk  his  head  in  thought  a  voice  came  up  to 
him  out  of  the  blackness  of  the  town  below.  It 
was  the  girl  again,  singing,  high  and  clear  as  a  flute, 
as  pure  and  ethereal  as  an  angel,  and  now  she  was 
singing  a  song.  Denver  roused  up  and  listened, 
then  lowered  his  head  and  tramped  back  and  forth 
on  the  ledge.  The  voice  came  again  in  a  song  that 
he  knew — it  was  one  that  he  had  on  a  record — and 
he  paused  in  his  impatient  striding.  She  could  sing, 
this  girl  of  Bunk's,  she  knew  something  besides 
scales  and  running  up  and  down.  It  was  a  song 
that  he  knew  well,  only  he  never  remembered  the 
names  on  the  records.  They  were  in  German  and 
French  and  strange,  foreign  languages,  while  all  that 
he  cared  for  was  the  music.  He  listened  again, 
for  her  singing  was  different ;  and  then,  as  she  began 
another  operatic  selection  he  started  off  down  the 
trail.  It  was  a  rough  one  at  best  and  he  felt  his 
way  carefully,  avoiding  the  cactus  and  thorns;  but 
as  he  crossed  the  creek  he  suddenly  took  shame  and 
stopped  in  the  shadow  of  the  sycamore. 

What  if  the  Professor,  that  old  prowler,  should 
come  along  and  find  him,  peeping  in  through 
Bunker's  open  door?  What  if  the  ray  of  light 
which  struck  out  through  the  door-frame  should 
reveal  him  to  the  singer  within?  And  yet  he  was 
curious  to  see  her.  Since  his  first  brusque  refusal 
to  go  in  and  meet  her,  Bunker  had  not  mentioned 
his  daughter  again — perhaps  he  remembered  what 


SIGNS  AND  OMENS  85 

was  said.  For  Denver  had  stated  that  he  had 
plenty  of  music  himself,  if  he  could  ever  get  his 
phonograph  from  Globe.  Yet  he  had  had  the  in 
strument  for  nearly  a  week  and  never  unpacked  the 
records.  They  were  all  good  records,  no  cheap 
stuff  or  rag-time;  but  somehow,  with  her  singing, 
it  didn't  seem  right  to  start  up  a  machine  against 
her.  And  especially  when  he  had  refused  to  come 
down  and  meet  her — a  fine  lady,  practicing  for 
grand  opera. 

He  sat  down  in  the  black  shadow  of  the  mighty 
sycamore  and  strained  his  ears  to  hear ;  but  a  chorus 
of  tree-frogs,  silenced  for  the  moment  by  his  com 
ing,  drowned  the  music  with  their  eerie  refrain.  He 
hurled  a  rock  into  the  depths  of  the  pool  and  the 
frog  chorus  ceased  abruptly,  but  the  music  from  the 
house  had  been  clearer  from  his  cave-mouth  than 
it  was  from  the  bed  of  the  creek.  For  half  an  hour 
he  sat,  gazing  out  into  the  ghostly  moonlight  for 
some  sign  of  the  snooping  Diffenderfer;  and  then 
by  degrees  he  edged  up  the  trail  until  he  stood  in  the 
shadow  of  the  store.  The  music  was  impressive — 
it  was  Marguerite's  part,  in  "Faust,"  sung  con 
secutively,  aria  by  aria — and  as  Denver  lay  listen 
ing  it  suddenly  came  over  him  that  life  was  tragic 
and  inexorable.  He  felt  a  great  longing,  a  great  un 
rest,  a  sense  of  disaster  and  despair;  and  then 
abruptly  the  singing  ceased,  and  with  it  passed  the 
mood. 

There  was  a  murmur  of  voices,  a  strumming 


86  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

on  the  piano,  a  passing  of  shadows  to  and  fro ;  and 
then  from  the  doorway  there  came  gay  and  spritely 
music — and  at  last  a  song  that  he  knew.  Denver 
listened  intently,  trying  to  remember  the  record 
which  had  contained  this  lilting  air.  He  had  it — 
the  "Barcarolle,"  the  boat-song  from  the  "Tales  of 
Hoffmann!"  And  she  was  singing  the  words  in 
English.  He  left  the  shadow  and  stepped  out  into 
the  open,  forgetful  of  everything  but  the  singer, 
and  the  words  came  out  to  him  clearly. 

"Night  divine,  O  night  of  love, 
O  smile  on  our  enchantment; 
Moon  and  stars  keep  watch  above 
This  radiant  night  of  love!" 

She  came  to  the  end,  riding  up  and  down  in  an 
ecstatic  series  of  "Ahs!"  and  as  the  song  floated 
away  into  piano  and  pianissimo  Denver  braved  the 
light  to  see  her. 

She  was  standing  by  the  piano,  swaying  like  a 
flower  to  the  music;  and  a  lamp  behind  made  her 
face  like  a  cameo,  her  hair  like  a  mass  of  gold. 
That  was  all  he  saw  in  the  swift,  stolen  moment 
before  he  retreated  in  a  panic  to  his  cave.  It  was 
she,  the  beautiful  woman  that  the  seeress  had  pre 
dicted,  the  one  he  should  fall  in  love  with !  She 
had  won  his  heart  before  he  even  saw  her,  but  how 
could  he  hope  to  win  her?  She  was  a  singer,  an 
artist  as  Mother  Trigedgo  had  said,  and  he  was 
a  hobo  miner.  He  stood  by  his  cavern  looking 
down  on  the  town  and  up  at  the  moon  and  stars 


SIGNS  AND  OMENS  87 

and  the  words  of  her  song  came  back  to  his  ears 
in  a  continual,  haunting  refrain. 

"Ah !  smile  on  our  enchantment, 
Night  of  Love,  O  night  of  love! 
Ah,  Ah  !  Ah,  Ah !   Ah,  Ah !   Ah,  Ah !" 

It  floated  away  in  a  lilting  diminuendo,  a  joyous, 
mocking  refrain ;  and  long  after  the  night  was  quiet 
again  the  music  still  ran  through  his  head.  It  pos 
sessed  him,  it  broke  his  sleep,  it  followed  him  in 
dreams;  and  with  it  all  went  the  vision  of  the 
singer,  surrounded  like  St.  Cecilia  with  a  golden 
halo  of  light.  He  woke  up  at  dawn  with  a  fire  in 
his  brain,  a  tumult  of  unrest  in  his  breast ;  and  like 
a  buck  when  he  feels  the  first  sting  of  a  wound  he 
turned  his  face  towards  the  heights.  The  valley 
seemed  to  oppress  him,  to  cabin  him  in;  but  up  on 
the  cliffs  where  the  eagles  soared  there  was  space 
and  the  breath  of  free  winds.  He  toiled  up  tire 
lessly,  a  fierce  energy  in  his  limbs,  a  mill-race  of 
thoughts  in  his  mind,  and  at  last  on  the  summit 
he  turned  and  looked  down  on  the  house  that  shel 
tered  his  beloved. 

She  was  the  woman,  he  knew  it,  for  his  heart  had 
told  him  long  before  he  had  thought  of  the 
prophecy ;  and  now  the  choice  between  the  gold  and 
silver  treasures  seemed  as  nothing  compared  to  win 
ning  her.  Of  all  the  admonitions  which  had  been 
laid  upon  him  by  the  words  of  the  Cornish  seeress, 
none  seemed  more  onerous  than  this  about  the 
woman  that  he  would  love. 


88  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

"You  will  fall  in  love  with  a  beautiful  woman 
who  is  an  artist,"  Mother  Trigedgo  had  written, 
"but  beware  how  you  reveal  your  affection  or  she 
will  confer  her  hand  upon  another." 

On  another!  This  woman,  whom  he  had  wor 
shipped  from  the  moment  he  had  seen  her,  would 
flaunt  him  if  he  revealed  his  love!  That  was  the 
thought  which  had  tortured  him  and  driven  him 
to  the  heights,  where  he  could  wrestle  with  his 
problem  alone.  How  could  he  meet  her  without 
her  reading  in  his  eyes  the  secret  he  must  not  re 
veal  ?  And  yet  he  was  possessed  with  a  mad  desire 
to  see  her — to  see  her  and  hear  her  sing.  All  her 
scales  and  roulades,  her  runs  and  trills,  had  passed 
by  him  like  so  much  smoke;  but  when  the  mood 
had  come  and  she  had  sung  her  song-of-songs  he 
had  lost  his  heart  to  her  instantly.  But  if,  in  her 
presence,  he  revealed  this  new  love  she  would  con 
fer  her  hand  upon  another ! 

He  stood  on  the  edge  of  Apache  Leap  and  gazed 
down  at  the  valley  below,  then  he  looked  far  away 
where  peak  piled  on  peak  and  the  desert  sloped 
away  to  the  horizon.  It  was  hot,  barren  land,  every 
ridge  spiked  with  giant  cactus,  every  gulch  a  bruis 
ing  tangle  of  brush  and  rocks ;  but  Final  lay  sleep 
ing  in  the  cool  shadow  of  the  Leap,  and  Drusilla 
slept  there  too.  But  who  would  think  to  look  for 
her  in  a  place  like  that,  or  for  the  treasures  of  silver 
and  gold?  The  finger  of  destiny  had  pointed  him 
plain,  for  he  stood  on  the  Place  of  Death.  It  was 
lifeless  yet,  save  for  the  uneasy  eagles  who  watched 


SIGNS  AND  OMENS  89 

him  from  a  splintered  crag;  and  the  clean,  black 
shadow  that  lapped  out  over  the  plain  held  the 
woman  and  the  treasures  in  its  compass. 

A  sense  of  awe,  of  religious  exaltation,  came  over 
Denver  as  he  considered  the  prophecy,  and  from 
somewhere  within  him  there  came  a  new  strength 
which  stilled  the  fierce  tumult  in  his  breast.  Since 
the  stars  had  willed  it  that  he  should  have  this 
woman  if  he  veiled  his  love  from  her  eyes  he  would 
be  brave  then,  and  constant,  and  steel  his  boy's  heart 
to  resist  her  matchless  charms.  He  would  watch 
over  her  from  afar,  feeding  his  love  in  secret,  and 
when  the  time  came  he  would  reap  his  reward  and 
the  prophecy  would  be  fulfilled.  And  while  he 
stood  aloof,  stealing  a  glimpse  of  her  at  night  or 
listening  to  the  magic  of  her  songs ;  he  must  win  the 
two  treasures,  both  the  silver  and  the  gold,  to  lay 
as  an  offering  at  her  feet. 

The  shadow  of  the  Leap  drew  back  from  the 
town,  leaving  the  houses  sun-struck  and  bare,  and 
as  his  mind  went  back  to  the  choice  between  the 
treasures  he  watched  the  moving  objects  below.  He 
saw  a  steer  wandering  down  the  empty  street,  and 
Old  Bunk  going  across  to  the  store;  and  then  in 
the  walled  garden  that  lay  behind  the  house  he 
beheld  a  woman's  form.  It  was  draped  in  white 
and  it  moved  about  rhythmically,  bending  slowly 
from  side  to  side;  and  then  with  the  graceful 
ethereal  lightness  it  leapt  and  whirled  in  a  dance. 
In  the  profundity  of  the  distance  all  was  lost  but 
the  grace  of  it,  the  fairy-like  flitting  to  and  fro; 


go  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

and,  as  Denver  watched,  the  tears  leapt  to  his  eyes 
at  the  thought  of  her  perfect  beauty. 

She  was  a  woman  from  another  world,  which  a 
horny-handed  miner  could  hardly  hope  to  enter ;  yet 
if  he  won  the  two  treasures,  which  would  make 
them  both  rich,  the  doors  would  swing  open  before 
him.  All  it  needed  was  a  wise  choice  between  the 
silver  and  the  gold,  and  destiny  would  attend  to  the 
rest.  Well — if  he  chose  the  gold  he  would  offend 
her  own  father,  who  was  urgently  in  need  of  funds; 
and  if  he  chose  the  silver  he  would  offend  Bible- 
Back  Murray,  and  Diffenderfer  as  well.  He  con 
sidered  the  two  claims  from  every  standpoint,  look 
ing  hopefully  about  for  some  sign;  and  as  he 
stepped  to  the  edge  and  looked  down  into  the  depths, 
the  male  eagle  left  his  crag. 

Riding  high  on  the  wind  which,  striking  against 
the  face  of  the  cliff,  floated  him  up  into  the  spaces 
above;  he  wheeled  in  a  smooth  circle,  turning  his 
head  from  side  to  side  as  he  watched  the  invader 
of  his  eyrie.  And  at  each  turn  of  his  head  Denver 
caught  the  flash  of  gold,  though  he  was  loath  to 
accept  it  as  a  sign.  He  waited,  fighting  against  it, 
marshaling  reasons  to  sustain  him;  and  then,  fold 
ing  his  wings,  the  eagle  descended  like  a  plummet, 
shooting  past  him  with  a  shrill,  defiant  scream. 
Denver  flinched  and  stepped  back,  then  he  leaned 
forward  eagerly  to  watch  where  the  bird's  flight 
would  take  him.  No  Roman  legionary,  going  into 
unequal  battle  with  his  war  eagle  wheeling  above 
its  standard,  ever  watched  its  swift  course  with 


SIGNS  AND  OMENS  91 

higher  hopes  or  believed  more  fully  in  the  omen. 
The  eagle  spread  his  wings  and  glided  off  to  the 
west,  flying  low  as  he  approached  the  plain ;  and  as 
he  passed  over  Final  and  the  claim  by  Queen  Creek, 
Denver  laughed  and  slapped  his  leg. 

"It's  a  go!"  he  exulted,  "the  silver  wins!" 
And  he  bounded  off  down  the  trail. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  LADY  OF  THE  SYCAMORES 

A  WEIGHT  like  that  of  Pelion  and  Ossa 
seemed  lifted  from  Denver's  shoulders  as  he 
hurried  down  from  Apache  Leap  and,  with  his  wal 
let  in  his  hip  pocket,  he  strode  straight  to  Bunker's 
house.  The  eagle  had  chosen  for  him,  and  chosen 
right,  and  the  last  of  his  troubles  was  over.  There 
was  nothing  to  do  now  but  buy  the  claim  and  make 
it  into  a  mine — and  that  was  the  easiest  thing  he 
did.  Pulling  ground  was  his  specialty — with  a  good 
man  to  help  he  could  break  his  six  feet  a  day — 
and  now  that  the  choice  had  been  made  between 
the  treasures  he  was  tingling  to  get  to  work. 

"Here's  your  money/'  he  said  as  soon  as  Bunker 
appeared,  "and  I'd  like  to  order  some  powder  and 
steel.  Just  write  me  out  a  quit-claim  for  that 
ground." 

"Well,  well,"  beamed  Bunker  pushing  up  his 
reading  glasses  and  counting  over  the  roll  of  bills, 
"this  will  make  quite  a  stake  for  Drusilla.  Come  in, 
Mr.  Russell,  come  in !" 

He  held  the  door  open  and  Denver  entered,  blink 
ing  his  eyes  as  he  came  in  from  the  glare.  The 
room  was  a  large  one,  with  a  grand  piano  at  one 

92 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  SYCAMORES     93 

end  and  music  and  books  strewn  about;  and  as 
Bunker  Hill  shouted  for  his  wife  and  daughter 
Denver  stared  about  in  astonishment.  From  the 
outside  the  house  was  like  any  other,  except  that 
it  was  covered  with  vines;  but  here  within  it  was 
startling  in  its  elegance,  fitted  up  with  every  luxury. 
There  was  a  fireplace  with  bronze  andirons,  massive 
furniture,  expensive  rugs;  and  the  walls  were  lined 
with  stands  and  book-shelves  that  overflowed  with 
treasures. 

"Oh  Drusilla!"  thundered  Bunker  and  at  last  she 
came  running,  bounding  in  through  the  garden  door. 
She  was  attired  in  a  filmy  robe,  caught  up  for  danc 
ing,  and  her  feet  were  in  Grecian  sandals;  and  at 
sight  of  Denver  she  drew  back  a  step,  then  stood 
firm  and  glanced  at  her  father. 

"Here's  that  five  hundred  dollars,"  said  Bunker 
briefly  and  put  the  roll  in  her  hand. 

"Oh — did  you  sell  it?"  she  demanded  in  dismay 
"did  you  sell  that  Number  One  claim?" 

"You  bet  I  did,"  answered  her  father  grimly,  "so 
take  your  money  and  beat  it." 

"But  I  told  you  not  to !"  she  went  on  reproach 
fully,  ignoring  Denver  entirely.  "I  told  you  not 
to  sell  it!" 

"That's  all  right,"  grumbled  Bunker,  "you're 
going  to  get  your  chance,  if  it  takes  the  last  cow 
in  the  barn.  I  know  you've  got  it  in  you  to  be  a 
great  singer — and  this'll  take  you  back  to  New 
York." 

"Well,  all  right,"  she  responded  tremulously,  "I 


94  SILVER  AND   GOLD 

did  want  just  one  more  chance.  But  if  I  don't  suc 
ceed  I'm  going  to  teach  school  and  pay  every  dollar 
of  this  back." 

She  turned  and  disappeared  out  the  garden  door 
and  Bunker  Hill  reached  for  his  hat. 

"Come  on  over  to  the  store,"  he  said  and  Denver 
followed  in  a  daze.  She  was  not  like  any  woman 
he  had  ever  dreamed  of,  nor  was  she  the  woman 
he  had  thought.  In  the  night,  when  she  was  sing 
ing,  she  had  seemed  slender  and  ethereal  with  her 
swan's  neck  and  piled  up  hair;  but  now  she  was 
different,  a  glorious  human  animal,  strong  and 
supple  yet  with  the  lines  of  a  girl.  And  her  eyes 
were  still  the  eyes  of  a  child,  big  and  round  and 
innocently  blue. 

"Here  comes  the  Professor,"  muttered  Bunker 
gloomily,  as  he  unlocked  the  heavy  door,  "he's  hep, 
I  reckon,  the  way  he  walks." 

The  Professor  was  waddling  with  his  queer, 
duck-like  steps  down  the  middle  of  the  deserted 
street  and  every  movement  of  his  gun-boat  feet 
was  eloquent  of  offended  dignity. 

"Veil,"  he  began  as  he  burst  into  the  store  and 
stopped  in  front  of  Denver,  "I  vant  an  answer, 
right  avay,  on  dat  property  I  showed  you  the  udder 
day.  I  joost  got  a  letter  from  a  chentleman  in 
Moroni  inquiring  about  an  option  on  dat  claim 
and " 

"You  can  give  it  to  him,"  cut  in  Denver,  "I've 
just  closed  with  Mr.  Hill  for  that  Number  One 
claim  up  the  crick." 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  SYCAMORES     95 

"So!"  exploded  the  Professor,  "veil,  I  vish  you 
veil  of  it !"  And  he  flung  violently  out  the  door. 

"Takes  it  hard,"  observed  Bunker,  "never  was  a 
good  loser.  You  want  to  watch  out  for  him,  now — 
he's  going  over  to  report  to  Murray." 

"So  that's  the  combination,"  nodded  Denver.  "I 
was  over  there  yesterday  and  Murray  knew  all  about 
me — gave  me  a  tip  not  to  buy  this  property." 

"Danged  right  he's  working  for  him,"  returned 
Old  Bunk  grimly.  "He  runs  to  him  with  every 
thing  he  hears.  It's  a  wonder  I  haven't  killed  that 
little  tub  of  wienies — he  crabs  every  trade  I  start  to 
make.  What's  the  matter  with  Old  Bible-Back 

now?" 

"Oh,  nothing,"  answered  Denver,  "but  if  it's  all 
the  same  to  you  I'd  like  to  just  locate  that  ground. 
Then  I'll  do  my  discovery  work  and  if  there  ever 
comes  up  a  question  I'll  have  your  quit-claim  to 
boot." 

"Suit  yourself,"  growled  Bunker,  "but  I  want  to 
tell  you  right  now  I've  got  a  perfect  title  to  that 
property.  I've  held  it  continuously  for  fifteen  years 
and " 

"Give  me  a  quit-claim  then;  because  Murray 
questions  your  title  and  I  don't  want  to  take  any 
chances.  He  says  you  haven't  kept  up  your  work." 

"He  does,  hey !"  challenged  Bunker  thrusting  out 
his  jaw  belligerently,  "well,  I'd  like  to  see  somebody 
jump  me.  I'm  living  on  my  property,  and  posses 
sory  title  is  the  very  best  title  there  is.  By  grab, 
if  I  thought  that  Mormon- faced  old  devil  was 


96  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

thinking  of  jumping  my  ground M  He  went 

off  into  uneasy  mutterings  and  wrote  out  the  quit 
claim  absently;  then  they  went  up  together  and, 
after  going  over  the  lines,  Denver  re-located  the 
mine  and  named  it  the  Silver  Treasure. 

'Think  you  guessed  right,  do  you?"  inquired 
Bunker  with  a  grin.  "Well,  I  hope  you  make  a  mil 
lion.  And  if  you  do  you'll  never  hear  no  kick 
from  me — you've  bought  it  and  paid  my  price." 

"Fair  enough !"  exclaimed  Denver  and  shook  hands 
on  the  trade,  after  which  he  bought  some  second 
hand  tools  and  went  to  work  on  a  trail.  Not  a 
hundred  feet  down-stream  from  where  the  vein 
cropped  out,  the  main  trail  crossed  to  the  east  side 
of  the  creek,  leaving  the  mine  on  the  side  of  a  steep 
hill.  A  few  days'  work,  while  he  was  waiting  for 
his  powder,  would  clear  out  the  worst  of  the  cactus 
and  catclaws  and  give  him  free  access  to  his  hole. 
Then  he  could  clean  out  the  open  cut,  set  up  a  little 
forge  and  prepare  for  the  driving  of  his  tunnel. 
The  sun  was  blazing  hot,  not  a  breath  of  wind  was 
stirring  and  the  sweat  splashed  the  rocks  as  he 
toiled ;  but  there  was  a  song  in  Denver's  heart  that 
made  his  labors  light  and  he  hummed  the  "Barca 
rolle"  as  he  worked.  She  was  scornful  of  him  now 
and  thought  only  of  her  music;  but  the  time  would 
come  when  she  would  know  him  as  her  equal,  for  a 
miner  can  be  an  artist,  too.  And  at  swinging  a 
double-jack  or  driving  uppers  Denver  Russell  was 
as  good  as  any  man.  He  worked  for  the  joy  of  it 


THE  LADY  OP  THE  SYCAMORES     97 

and  took  pride  in  his  craft — and  that  marks  the  true 
artist  everywhere. 

Yet,  now  that  his  sale  had  been  consummated  and 
he  had  the  money  he  needed,  Bunker  Hill  suddenly 
lost  all  interest  in  Denver  and  retired  into  his  shell. 
He  had  invited  Denver  once  to  come  down  to  his 
house  and  share  the  hospitality  of  his  home;  but, 
after  Denver's  brusque,  almost  brutal  refusal,  Old 
Bunk  had  never  been  the  same.  He  had  shown 
Denver  his  claim  and  stated  the  price  and  told  a 
few  stories  on  the  side,  but  he  had  shown  in  many 
ways  that  his  pride  had  been  hurt  and  that  he  did 
not  fully  approve.  This  was  made  the  more  evi 
dent  by  the  careful  way  in  which  he  avoided  in 
troducing  his  wife;  and  it  became  apparent  beyond 
a  doubt  in  that  tense  ecstatic  minute  when  Drusilla 
had  come  in  from  the  garden. 

Then,  if  ever,  was  the  moment  when  Denver 
should  have  been  introduced;  but  Bunker  had 
pointedly  neglected  the  opportunity  and  left  him 
still  a  stranger.  And  all  as  a  reward  for  his  foolish 
words  and  his  refusal  of  well-meaning  hospitality. 
Denver  realized  it  now,  but  his  pride  was  touched 
and  he  refrained  from  all  further  advances.  If  he 
was  not  good  enough  to  know  Old  Bunker's  family 
he  was  not  good  enough  to  associate  with  him ;  and 
so  for  three  days  he  lived  without  society,  for  the 
Professor,  too,  was  estranged.  He  passed  Denver 
now  with  eyes  fixed  straight  ahead,  refusing  even  to 
recognize  his  presence;  and,  cut  off  for  the  time 


98  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

from  all  human  intercourse,  Denver  turned  at  last 
to  his  phonograph. 

The  stars  had  come  out  in  the  velvety  black  sky, 
the  hot  stillness  of  evening  had  come,  and  from  the 
valley  below  no  sound  came  up  but  the  eerie,  eh, 
eh,  eh,  of  tree  toads.  They  were  sitting  by  the 
stream  and  in  cracks  among  the  rocks,  puffing  out 
their  pouched  throats  like  toy  balloons  and  raising, 
a  shrill,  haunting  chorus.  Their  thin  voices  inter 
mingled  in  an  insistent,  unearthly  refrain  as  if  the 
spirits  of  the  dead  had  come  again  to  gibber  by 
the  pool.  Even  the  scales  and  trills  of  Drusilla  had 
ceased,  so  hot  and  close  was  the  night. 

Denver  set  up  his  phonograph  with  its  scroll 
work  front  and  patent  filing  cases  and  looked  over 
the  records  which  he  had  bought  at  great  expense 
while  the  other  boys  were  buying  jazz.  He  was 
proud  of  them  all  but  the  one  he  valued  most  he 
reserved  for  another  time.  It  was  the  "Barcarolle" 
from  "Les  Contes  D'  Hoffmann,"  sung  by  Farrar 
and  Scotti,  and  he  put  on  instead  a  tenor  solo  that 
had  cost  him  three  dollars  in  Globe.  Then  a  violin 
solo,  "Tambourin  Chinois,"  by  some  man  with  a 
foreign  name;  and  at  last  the  record  that  he  liked 
the  best,  the  "Cradle  Song,"  by  Schumann-Heink. 
And  as  he  played  it  again  he  saw  Drusilla  come  out 
and  stand  in  the  doorway,  listening. 

It  was  a  beautiful  song,  very  sweet,  very  tender, 
and  sung  with  the  feeling  of  an  artist;  yet  some 
thing  about  it  seemed  to  displease  Drusilla,  for  she 
turned  and  went  into  the  house.  Perhaps,  hearing 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  SYCAMORES     99 

the  song,  she  was  reminded  of  the  singers,  step 
ping  forward  in  a  blare  of  trumpets  to  meet  the 
applause  of  vast  audiences;  or  perhaps  again  she 
felt  the  difference  between  her  efforts  and  theirs; 
but  all  the  next  day,  when  she  should  have  been 
practicing,  Drusilla  was  strangely  silent.  Denver 
paused  in  his  work  from  time  to  time  as  he  listened 
for  the  familiar  roulades,  then  he  swung  his  heavy 
sledge  as  if  it  were  a  feather-weight  and  beat  out 
the  measured  song  of  steel  on  steel.  He  picked 
and  shoveled,  tearing  down  from  above  and  build 
ing  up  the  trail  below;  and  as  he  worked  he 
whistled  the  "Cradle  Song,"  which  was  running 
through  his  brain.  But  as  he  swung  the  sledge 
again  he  was  conscious  of  a  presence,  of  someone 
watching  from  the  sycamores;  and,  glancing  down 
quickly  he  surprised  Drusilla,  looking  up  from 
among  the  trees.  She  met  his  eyes  frankly  but  he 
turned  away,  for  he  remembered  what  the  seeress 
had  told  him.  So  he  went  about  his  work  and  when 
he  looked  again  his  lady  of  the  sycamores  had  fled. 


CHAPTER  XII 

STEEL  ON  STEEL 

THE  stifling  summer  heat  fetched  up  wind  from 
the  south  and  thundercaps  crowned  the  high 
peaks;  then  the  rain  came  slashing  and  struck  up 
the  dust  before  it  lifted  and  went  scurrying  away. 
The  lizards  gasped  for  breath,  Drusilla  ceased  to 
sing,  all  Final  seemed  to  palpitate  with  heat;  but 
through  heat  and  rain  one  song  kept  on — Denver's 
song  of  steel  on  steel.  In  the  cool  of  his  tunnel 
he  drove  up-holes  and  down,  slugging  manfully 
away  until  his  round  of  holes  was  done  and  then 
shooting  away  the  face.  As  the  sun  sank  low  he 
sat  on  the  dump,  sorting  and  sacking  the  best  of 
his  ore;  and  one  evening  as  he  worked  Drusilla 
came  by,  walking  slowly  as  if  in  deep  thought. 

He  was  down  on  his  knees,  a  single-jack  in  his 
right  hand  a  pile  of  quartzite  at  his  left,  and  as 
she  came  to  the  forks  he  went  on  cracking  rocks 
without  so  much  as  a  stare.  She  glanced  at  him 
furtively,  looked  back  towards  the  town,  then 
turned  off  and  came  up  his  trail. 

"Good  evening,"  she  began  and  as  he  nodded 
silently  she  seemed  at  a  loss  for  words.  " — I  just 
wanted  to  ask  you,"  she  burst  out  hurriedly,  "if 

100 


STEEL  ON:  ST 


you'd  be  willing  to  sell  back  the  mine?  I  brought 
up  the  money  with  me." 

She  drew  out  the  sweaty  roll  of  bills  which  he 
had  paid  to  her  father  and  as  Denver  looked  up 
she  held  it  out  to  him,  then  clutched  it  convulsively 
back. 

"I  don't  mean,"  she  explained,  "that  you  have  to 
take  it.  But  I  thought  perhaps  —  oh,  is  it  very  rich? 
I'm  sorry  I  let  him  sell  it." 

"Why,  no,"  answered  Denver  with  his  slow, 
honest  smile,  while  his  heart  beat  like  a  trip-hammer 
in  his  breast,  "it  isn't  so  awful  rich.  But  I  bought 
it,  you  know  —  well,  I  was  sent  here  !" 

"What,  by  Murray?"  she  cried  aghast,  "did  he 
send  you  in  to  buy  it?" 

"Don't  you  think  it!"  returned  Denver.  "I'm 
working  for  myself  and  —  well,  I  don't  want  to 
sell." 

"No,  but  listen,"  she  pleaded,  her  eyes  beginning 
to  fill,  "I  —  I  made  a  great  mistake.  This  was 
father's  best  claim,  he  shouldn't  have  sold  it;  and 
so  —  won't  you  sell  it  back?" 

She  smiled,  and  Denver  reached  out  blindly  to 
accept  the  money,  but  at  a  thought  he  drew  back 
his  hand. 

"No!"  he  said,  "I  was  sent,  you  know  —  a  for 
tune-teller  told  me  to  dig  here." 

"Oh,  did  he?"  she  exclaimed  in  great  disappoint 
ment.  "Won't  some  other  claim  do  just  as  well? 
No,  I  don't  mean  that  ;  but  —  tell  me  how  it  all  came 
about." 


;  >;  0  SILVER  .AND  GOLD 

"Well/'  began  Denver,  avoiding  her  eyes;  and 
then  he  rose  up  abruptly  and  brushed  off  the  top 
of  a  powder-box.  "Sit  down,"  he  said,  "I'd  sure 
like  to  accommodate  you,  but  here's  how  I  come 
to  buy  it.  There's  a  woman  over  in  Globe — Mother 
Trigedgo  is  her  name — and  she  saved  the  lives  of 
a  lot  of  us  boys  by  predicting  a  cave  in  a  mine. 
Well,  she  told  my  fortune  and  here's  what  she 
said: 

"You  will  soon  make  a  journey  to  the  west  and 
there,  within  the  shadow  of  a  place  of  death,  you 
will  find  two  treasures,  one  of  silver  and  the  other 
of  gold.  Choose  well  between  them  and  both  shall 
be  yours,  but — well,  I  don't  need  to  tell  you  the 
rest.  But  this  is  my  choice,  see?  And  so,  of 
course " 

"Oh,  do  you  believe  in  those  people?"  she  inquired 
incredulously,  "I  thought " 

"But  not  this  one!"  spoke  up  Denver  stoutly,  "I 
know  that  the  most  of  them  are  fakes.  But  this 
Mother  Trigedgo,  she's  a  regular  seeress — and  it's 
all  come  true,  every  word !  Apache  Leap  up  there 
is  the  place  of  death.  I  came  west  after  that  fellow 
that  robbed  me;  and  this  mine  here  and  that  gold 
prospect  of  the  Professor's  are  both  in  the  shadow 
of  the  peaks!" 

"But  maybe  you  guessed  wrong,"  she  cried, 
snatching  at  a  straw.  "Maybe  this  isn't  the  one, 
after  all.  And  if  it  isn't,  oh,  won't  you  let  me 
buy  it  back  for  father?  Because  I'm  not  going  to 
New  York,  after  all." 


STEEL  ON  STEEL  103 

"Well,  what  good  would  it  do  him?"  burst  out 
Denver  vehemently.  "He's  had  it  for  fifteen  years ! 
If  he  thought  so  much  of  it  why  didn't  he  work 
it  a  little  and  ship  out  a  few  sacks  of  ore?" 

"He's  not  a  miner,"  protested  Drusilla  weakly 
and  Denver  grunted  contemptuously. 

"No,"  he  said,  "you  told  the  truth  that  time — 
and  that's  what  the  matter  with  the  whole  district. 
The  ground  is  all  held  by  lead-pencil  work  and  no 
body's  doing  any  digging.  And  now,  when  I  come 
in  and  begin  to  find  some  ore,  your  old  man  wants 
his  mining  claim  back." 

"He  does  not!"  retorted  Drusilla,  "he  doesn't 
know  I'm  up  here.  But  he  hasn't  been  the  same 
since  he  sold  his  claim,  and  I  want  to  buy  it  back. 
He  sold  it  to  get  the  money  to  send  me  to  New 
York,  and  it  was  all  an  awful  mistake.  I  can  never 
become  a  great  singer." 

"No?"  inquired  Denver,  glad  to  change  the  sub 
ject,  "I  thought  you  were  doing  fine.  That  evening 
when  you " 

"Well,  so  did  I !"  she  broke  in,  "until  you  played 
all  those  records;  and  then  it  came  over  me  I 
couldn't  sing  like  that  if  I  tried  a  thousand  years. 
I  just  haven't  got  the  temperament.  Those  conti 
nental  people  have  something  that  we  lack — they're 
so  Frenchy,  so  emotional,  so  full  of  fire !  I've  tried 
and  I've  tried  and  I  just  can't  do  it — I  just  can't 
interpret  those  parts !" 

She  stamped  her  foot  and  winked  very  fast  and 
Denver  forgot  he  was  a  stranger.  He  had  heard 


io4  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

her  sing  so  often  that  he  seemed  to  know  her  well, 
to  have  known  her  for  years  and  years,  and  he 
ventured  a  comforting  word. 

"Oh  well,  you're  young  yet,"  he  suggested  shame 
facedly,  "perhaps  it  will  come  to  you  later." 

"No,  it  won't!"  she  flared  back,  "I've  got  to  give 
it  up  and  go  to  teaching  school !" 

She  stamped  her  foot  more  impatiently  than  ever 
and  Denver  went  to  cracking  rocks. 

"What  do  you  think  of  that?"  he  inquired 
casually,  handing  over  a  chunk  of  ore;  but  she 
gazed  at  it  uncomprehendingly. 

"Isn't  there  anything  I  can  do?"  she  began  at 
last,  "that  will  make  you  change  your  mind?  I 
might  give  you  this  much  money  now  and  then 
pay  you  more  later,  when  I  go  to  teaching  school." 

"Well,  what  do  you  want  it  back  for?"  he  de 
manded  irritably,  "it's  been  lying  here  idle  for 
years.  I'd  think  you'd  be  glad  to  have  somebody 
get  hold  of  it  that  would  do  a  little  work." 

"I  just  want  to  give  it  back — and  have  it  over 
with!"  she  exclaimed  with  an  embittered  smile. 
"I've  practiced  and  I've  practiced  but  it  doesn't  do 
any  good,  and  now  I'm  going  to  quit" 

"Oh,  if  that's  all,"  jeered  Denver,  "I'll  locate 
another  claim,  and  let  you  give  that  back.  What 
good  would  it  do  him  if  you  did  give  it  back — he'd 
just  sit  in  the  shade  and  tell  stories." 

"Don't  you  talk  that  way  about  my  father!"  she 
exclaimed,  "he's  the  nicest,  kindest  man  that  ever 
lived!  He's  not  strong  enough  to  work  in  this 


STEEL  ON   STEEL  105 

awful  hot  weather  but  he  intended  to  open  this  up 
in  the  fall." 

"Well,  it's  opened  up  already,"  announced  Den 
ver  grimly.  "You  just  show  him  that  piece  of 
rock/' 

"Oh,  have  you  found  something?"  she  cried 
snatching  up  the  chunk  of  ore.  "Why,  this  doesn't 
look  like  silver!" 

"No,  it  isn't,"  he  said,  and  at  the  look  in  his  eyes 
she  leapt  up  and  ran  down  the  trail. 

She  came  back  immediately  with  her  father  and 
mother  and,  after  a  moment  of  pop-eyed  staring, 
the  Professor  came  waddling  along  behind. 

"Where'd  you  get  this?"  called  Bunker  as  he 
strode  up  the  trail  and  Denver  jerked  his  thumb 
towards  the  tunnel. 

"At  the  breast,"  he  said.  "Looks  pretty  good, 
don't  it?  I  thought  it  would  run  into  copper!" 

"Vot's  dat?  Vot's  dat?"  clamored  the  Professor 
from  the  fork  of  the  trail  and  Bunker  gave  Denver 
the  wink. 

"Aw,  that  ain't  copper,"  he  declared,  "it's  just 
this  green  hornblende.  "We  have  it  around  here 
everywhere." 

"All  right,  answered  Denver,  "you  can  have  it 
your  own  way — but  I  call  it  copper,  myself." 

"Vot — copper?"  demanded  the  Professor  making 
a  clutch  at  the  specimen  and  examining  it  with  his 
myopic  eyes,  and  then  he  broke  into  a  roar.  "Vot — 
dat  copper?"  he  cried,  "you  t'ink  dat  is  copper?  Oh, 


106  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

ho,  ho !  Oh,  veil !  Dis  is  pretty  rich.  It  is  nutting 
but  manganese!" 

"That's  all  right,"  returned  Denver,  "you  can 
think  whatever  you  please ;  but  I've  worked  under 
ground  in  too  many  copper  mines " 

"Where'd  you  get  this?"  broke  in  Bunker,  giving 
Denver  a  dig,  and  as  they  went  into  the  tunnel  he 
whispered  in  his  ear:  "Keep  it  dark,  or  he'll  blab 
to  Murray!" 

"Well,  let  him  blab,"  answered  Denver,  "it's 
nothing  to  me.  But  all  the  same,  pardner,"  he  added 
sotto  voce,  "if  I  was  in  your  place  I  wouldn't  bank 
too  much  on  holding  them  claims  with  a  lead- 
pencil." 

"I'm  holding  'em  with  a  six-shooter,"  corrected 
Bunker,  "and  Murray  or  nobody  else  don't  dare 
to  jump  a  claim.  I'm  known  around  these  parts." 

"Suit  yourself,"  shrugged  Denver  as  they  came 
to  the  face,  "I  guess  this  ore  won't  start  no  stam 
pede.  That  seam  in  the  hanging  wall  is  where  it 
comes  in — I'm  looking  for  the  veins  to  come 
together." 

"Judas  priest!"  exclaimed  Bunker  jabbing  his 
candle-stick  into  the  copper  streak,  "say,  this  is 
showing  up  good.  And  your  silver  vein  is  widen 
ing  out,  too.  Nothing  to  it,  boy;  youVe  got  a 
mine!" 

"Not  yet,"  said  Denver,  "but  wait  till  she  dips. 
This  is  nothing  but  a  blanket  vein,  so  far;  but  if 
she  dips  and  goes  down  then  look  out,  old-timer, 
she's  liable  to  turn  out  a  bonanza." 


STEEL  ON  STEEL  107 

"Well,  who'd  a  thought  it,"  murmured  Old  Bunk 
turning  somberly  away,  "and  I've  been  holding  her 
for  fifteen  years!" 

He  led  the  way  out,  stooping  down  to  avoid  the 
roof;  and  outside  the  stoop  still  remained. 

"Where's  the  Professor?"  he  asked,  suddenly 
looking  about,  "has  he  gone  to  tell  Murray, 
already?  Well,  by  grab  then,  he  knew  it  was 
copper !" 

"Oh,  was  it  copper?"  quavered  Drusilla  catching 
hold  of  his  hand  and  looking  up  into  his  tired  eyes, 
"and  you  sold  it  for  five  hundred  dollars!  But 
that's  all  right,"  she  smiled,  drawing  his  head  down 
for  a  kiss.  "I'll  just  have  to  succeed  now — and  I'm 
going  to!" 


CHAPTER  XIII 

SWEDE  LUCK 

AS  the  sun  set  that  evening  in  a  trailing  blaze 
of  glory  Denver  Russell  came  out  and  sat 
with  bared  arms,  looking  lazily  down  at  the  town. 
The  news  of  his  strike  had  roused  them  at  last, 
these  easy-going,  do-nothing  old-timers;  and  now, 
from  an  outcast,  a  crack-brained  hobo  miner,  he  was 
suddenly  accepted  as  an  equal.  They  spoke  to  him, 
they  recognized  him,  they  rushed  up  to  his  mine 
and  stared  at  the  ore  he  had  dug ;  and  even  the  Pro 
fessor  had  purloined  a  specimen  to  take  over  and 
show  to  Murray.  And  all  because,  while  the  rest 
of  them  loafed,  he  had  drifted  in  on  his  vein  until 
he  cut  the  stringer  of  copper.  It  was  Swede  luck 
again — the  luck  of  that  great  people  who  invented 
the  wheel-barrow,  and  taught  the  Irish  to  stand 
erect  and  run  it. 

Denver  could  smile  a  little,  grimly,  as  he  re 
called  Old  Bunker's  stories  and  his  fleering  state 
ment  that  a  mule  could  work ;  but,  now  that  he  had 
struck  copper  at  the  breast  of  his  tunnel,  the  mule 
was  suddenly  a  gentleman.  He  was  good  enough 
to  speak  to,  and  for  Bunker's  daughter  to  speak  to, 
and  for  his  wife  to  invite  to  supper;  and  all  on 

108 


SWEDE  LUCK  109 

account  of  a  vein  of  copper  that  was  scarcely  two 
inches  thick.  But  it  was  rich  and  it  widened  out, 
instead  of  pinching  off  as  a  typical  gash- vein  would ; 
and  while  it  would  take  a  fortune  to  develop  it,  it 
was  copper,  and  copper  was  king.  Silver  and  gold 
mines  were  nothing  now,  for  silver  was  down  and 
gold  was  losing  its  purchasing  power;  but  the  min 
ing  journals  were  full  of  articles  about  copper,  and 
it  had  risen  to  thirty  cents  a  pound. 

Thirty  cents,  when  a  few  years  ago  it  had 
dropped  as  low  as  eleven!  And  it  was  still  going 
up,  for  the  munition  factories  were  clamoring  for 
it  and  the  speculators  were  bidding  up  futures. 
Even  Bible-Back  Murray,  who  had  a  reputation  as 
a  pincher,  had  suddenly  become  prodigal  with  his 
money  and  was  working  day  and  night,  trying  to 
tap  a  hidden  copper  deposit.  He  had  caught  the 
contagion,  the  lure  of  tremendous  profits,  and  he 
was  risking  his  all  on  the  venture.  What  would 
he  have  to  say  now  if  his  diamond  drill  tapped 
nothing  and  a  hobo  struck  it  rich  over  at  Queen 
Creek?  Well,  he  could  say  what  he  pleased,  for 
Denver  was  determined  not  to  sell  for  a  million 
dollars.  He  had  come  there  with  a  purpose,  in 
answer  to  a  prophecy,  and  there  yet  remained  to  win 
the  golden  treasure  and  the  beautiful  woman  who 
was  an  artist. 

Every  little  thing  was  coming  as  the  seeress  had 
predicted — good  Old  Mother  Trigedgo  with  her 
cards  and  astrology — and  all  that  was  necessary 
was  to  follow  her  advice  and  the  beautiful  Drusilla 


i io  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

would  be  his.  He  must  treat  her  at  first  like  any 
young  country  girl,  as  if  she  had  no  beauty  or 
charm;  and  then  in  some  way,  unrevealed  as  yet, 
he  would  win  her  love  in  return.  He  had  schooled 
himself  rigidly  to  resist  her  fascination,  but  when 
she  had  looked  up  at  him  with  her  beseeching  blue 
eyes  and  asked  him  to  sell  back  the  mine,  only  a 
miracle  of  intercession  had  saved  him  from  yield 
ing  and  accepting  back  the  five  hundred  dollars.  He 
was  like  clay  in  her  hands — her  voice  thrilled  him, 
her  eyes  dazzled  him,  her  smile  made  him  forget 
everything  else — yet  just  at  the  moment  when  he 
had  reached  out  for  the  money  the  memory  of  the 
prophecy  had  come  back  to  him.  And  so  he  had 
refused,  turning  a  deaf  ear  to  her  entreaties,  and 
scoffing  at  her  easy-going  father ;  and  she  had  gone 
off  down  the  trail  without  once  looking  back,  prom 
ising  Bunker  she  would  become  a  great  singer. 

Denver  smiled  again  dreamily  as  he  dwelt  upon 
her  beauty,  her  hair  like  finespun  gold,  her  eyes  that 
mirrored  every  thought ;  and,  with  it  all,  a  something 
he  could  not  name  that  made  his  heart  leap  and 
choke  him.  He  could  not  speak  when  she  first 
addressed  him,  his  brain  had  gone  into  a  whirl; 
and  so  he  had  sat  there,  like  a  great  oaf  of  a  miner, 
and  refused  to  give  her  anything.  It  was  rough, 
yet  the  Cornish  seeress  had  required  it ;  and  doubt 
less,  being  a  woman  herself,  she  understood  the 
feminine  heart.  But  at  the  end  of  his  long  reverie 
Denver  sighed  again,  for  the  ways  of  astrologers 
were  beyond  him. 


SWEDE  LUCK  in 

In  the  morning  he  rose  early,  to  muck  out  the 
rock  and  clear  the  tunnel  for  a  new  round  of  holes ; 
and  each  time  as  he  came  out  with  a  wheel-barrow 
full  of  waste  he  cocked  his  eye  to  the  west.  Bible- 
Back  Murray  would  be  coming  over  soon,  if  he 
was  still  at  his  camp  around  the  hill.  Yet  the 
second  day  passed  before  he  arrived,  thundering  in 
from  the  valley  in  his  big,  yellow  car;  and  even 
then  he  made  some  purchases  at  the  store  before 
he  came  up  to  the  mine. 

"Good  morning!"  he  hailed  cheerily,  "they  tell 
me  you've  struck  ore.  Well,  well;  how  does  the 
vein  show  up?'* 

"  'Bout  the  same,"  mumbled  Denver  and  glanced 
at  him  curiously.  He  had  expected  a  little  fire 
works. 

"About  the  same,  eh?"  repeated  Murray,  flicking 
his  rebellious  glass  eye,  which  had  a  tendency  to 
stare  off  to  one  side,  "is  this  a  sample  of  your  ore? 
Well,  I  will  say,  it  looks  promising — would  you 
mind  if  I  go  into  the  tunnel?" 

"Nope,"  returned  Denver;  and  then,  after  a 
moment's  pause:  "How's  that  gun-man  of  yours 
getting  along?" 

"Oh,  Dave?  He's  all  right.  I'll  ask  you  over 
sometime  and  let  you  get  better  acquainted." 

"Never  mind,"  answered  Denver,  "I  know  him 
all  I  want  to.  And  if  I  catch  him  on  my  ground 
I'll  sure  make  him  jump — I  don't  like  the  way  he 
talked  to  me." 

"Well,  he's  rough,  but  he's  good-hearted,"  ob- 


ii2  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

served  Murray  pacifically.  "I'm  sorry  he  spoke  to 
you  that  way — shall  we  go  in  now  and  look  at  the 
vein?" 

Denver  grunted  non-committally  and  led  Murray 
into  the  tunnel,  which  had  turned  now  to  follow 
the  ore.  Whatever  his  game  was  it^was  too  deep 
for  Denver,  so  he  looked  on  in  watchful  silence. 
Murray  seemed  well  acquainted  with  mining — he 
looked  at  the  foot-wall  and  hanging-wall  and  traced 
out  the  course  of  both  veins;  and  then,  without 
offering  to  take  any  samples,  he  turned  and  went 
out  to  the  dump. 

"Yes,  very  good,"  he  said,  but  without  any  en 
thusiasm,  "it  certainly  looks  very  promising.  Well, 
good  day,  Mr.  Russell;  much  obliged." 

He  started  down  the  trail,  leaving  Denver  staring, 
and  then  he  turned  hurriedly  back. 

"Oh,  by  the  way,"  he  said,  "I  buy  and  sell  ore. 
When  you  get  enough  sacked  you  might  send  it 
down  by  McGraw  and  I'll  give  you  a  credit  at  the 
store." 

"Yes,  all  right,"  assented  Denver  and  stood  look 
ing  after  him  till  he  cranked  up  and  went  roaring 
away.  Not  a  word  about  the  title,  nothing  said 
about  his  warning;  and  no  mention  made  of  his 
well-known  ability  to  break  any  man  in  the  county. 
The  facts,  apparently,  were  all  that  interested  him 
then — but  he  might  make  an  offer  later.  When  the 
vein  was  opened  up  and  he  had  made  his  first  ship 
ment,  when  it  began  to  look  like  a  mine!  Denver 


SWEDE  LUCK  113 

went  back  to  work  and  as  he  drove  in  day  by  day 
he  was  careful  to  save  all  the  ore. 

He  hadn't  had  it  assayed,  because  assaying  is 
expensive  and  his  supplies  had  cost  more  than  he 
expected,  but  from  the  size  of  the  button  when  he 
made  his  rough  fire-tests,  he  knew  that  it  ran  high 
in  silver.  Probably  eight  hundred  ounces,  besides 
the  lead ;  and  he  had  sorted  out  nearly  a  ton.  About 
the  time  he  was  down  to  his  bottom  dollar  he  would 
ship  and  get  another  grub-stake.  Then,  when  that 
was  gone,  if  his  vein  opened  up,  he  would  ship  to 
the  smelter  direct ;  but  the  first  small  shipment  could 
be  easier  handled  by  a  man  who  made  it  a  business. 
Of  course  Murray  would  gouge  him,  and  over 
charge  him  on  everything,  but  the  main  idea  was 
to  get  Denver  to  start  an  account  and  take  that 
much  trade  away  from  Hill.  Denver,  figured  it  all 
out  and  then  let  it  pass,  for  there  were  other  things 
on  his  mind. 

On  the  evening  of  his  strike  the  house  below  had 
been  silent;  but  early  the  next  morning  she  had 
begun  again,  only  this  time  she  was  not  singing 
scales.  It  was  grand  opera  now,  in  French  and 
Italian;  with  brilliant  runs  and  trills  and  high, 
sustained  crescendos  that  seemed  almost  to  demand 
applause ;  and  high-pitched,  agitato  recitatives.  She 
was  running  through  the  scores  of  the  standard 
operas— "La  Traviata,"  "II  Trovatore,"  "Martha" 
— but  as  the  week  wore  along  she  stopped  singing 
again  and  Denver  saw  her  down  among  the  syca 
mores.  She  paid  no  attention  to  him,  wandering  up 


ii4  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

and  down  the  creek  bed  or  sitting  in  gloomy  silence 
by  the  pools;  but  at  last  as  he  stood  at  the  mouth 
of  his  tunnel  breaking  ore  with  the  great  hammer 
he  loved,  she  came  out  on  the  trail  and  gazed  across 
at  him  wistfully,  though  he  feigned  not  to  notice 
her  presence.  He  was  young  and  vigorous,  and  the 
sledge  hammer  was  his  toy;  and  as  Drusilla,  when 
she  was  practicing,  gloried  in  the  range  of  her 
voice  and  her  effortless  bravuras  and  trills,  so  Den 
ver,  swinging  his  sledge,  felt  like  Thor  of  old  when 
he  broke  the  rocks  with  his  blows.  Drusilla  gazed 
at  him  and  sighed  and  walked  pensively  past  him, 
then  returned  and  came  back  up  his  trail. 

"Good  evening,"  she  said  and  Denver  greeted  her 
with  a  smile  for  he  saw  that  her  mood  was  friendly. 
She  had  resented,  at  first,  his  brusque  refusal  and 
his  rough,  straight-out  way  of  speaking;  but  she 
was  lonely  now,  and  he  knew  in  his  heart  that  all 
was  not  well  with  her  singing. 

"You  like  to  work,  don't  you?"  she  went  on  at 
last  as  he  stood  sweating  and  dumb  in  her  presence, 
"don't  you  ever  get  tired,  or  anything?" 

"Not  doing  this/'  he  said,  "I'm  a  driller,  you 
know,  and  I  like  to  keep  my  hand  in.  I  compete  in 
these  rock-drilling  contests." 

"Oh,  yes,  father  was  telling  me,"  she  answered 
quickly.  "That's  where  you  won  all  that  money — 
the  money  to  buy  the  mine." 

"Yes,  and  I've  won  other  money  before,"  he 
boasted.  "I  won  first  place  last  year  in  the  single- 
handed  contest — but  that's  too  hard  on  your 


SWEDE  LUCK  115 

arm.  You  change  about,  you  know,  in  the  double- 
handed  work — one  strikes  while  the  other  turns — 
but  in  single  jacking  it's  just  hammer,  hammer, 
hammer,  until  your  arm  gets  dead  to  the  shoulder." 

"It  must  be  nice,"  she  suggested  with  a  half- 
concealed  sigh,  "to  be  able  to  make  money  so  easily. 
Have  you  always  been  a  miner?" 

"No,  I  was  raised  on  a  ranch,  up  in  Colorado — 
but  there's  lots  more  money  in  mining.  I  don't 
work  by  the  day,  I  take  contracts  by  the  foot  where 
there's  difficult  or  dangerous  work.  Sometimes  I 
make  forty  dollars  a  day.  There's  a  knack  about 
mining,  like  everything  else — you've  got  to  know 
just  how  to  drive  your  holes  in  order  to  break  the 
most  ground — but  give  me  a  jack-hammer  and 
enough  men  to  muck  out  after  me  and  I  can  sink 
from  sixteen  to  twenty  feet  a  day,  depending  on 
the  rock.  But  here,  of  course,  I'm  working  lone- 
handed  and  only  make  about  three  feet  a  day." 

"Oh,"  she  murmured  with  a  mild  show  o>f  inter 
est  and  Denver  picked  up  his  hammer.  Mother 
Trigedgo  had  warned  him  not  to  be  too  friendly, 
and  now  he  was  learning  why.  He  set  out  a  huge 
fragment  that  had  been  blasted  from  the  face  and 
swung  his  hammer  again. 

"Did  you  ever  hear  the  'Anvil  Chorus'?"  she 
asked  watching  him  curiously.  "It's  in  the  second 
act  of  'II  Trovatore.'  " 

"Sure!"  exclaimed  Denver,  "I  heard  Sousa's 
band  play  it!  I've  got  it  on  a  record  somewhere." 

"No,  but  in  a  real  opera — you'd  be  fine  for  that 


n6  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

part.  They  have  a  row  of  anvils  around  the  back 
of  the  stage  and  as  the  chorus  sing  the  gypsy 
blacksmiths  beat  out  the  time  by  striking  with  their 
hammers.  Back  in  New  York  last  year  there  was 
a  perfectly  huge  man  and  he  had  a  hammer  as  big 
as  yours  that  he  swung  with  both  hands  while  he 
sang.  You  reminded  me  of  him  when  I  saw  you 
working — don't  you  get  kind  of  lonely,  some 
times?" 

"Too  busy,"  replied  Denver  turning  to  pick  up 
another  rock,  "don't  have  time  for  anything  like 
that." 

"Well,  I  wish  I  was  that  way,"  she  sighed  after 
a  silence  and  Denver  smote  ponderously  at  the 
rock." 

"Why  don't  you  work?"  he  asked  at  last  and 
Drusilla's  eyes  flashed  fire. 

"I  do !"  she  cried,  "I  work  all  the  time !  But  that 
doesn't  do  me  any  good.  It's  all  right,  perhaps, 
if  you're  just  breaking  rocks,  or  digging  dirt  in 
some  mine;  but  I'm  trying  to  become  a  singer  and 
you  can't  succeed  that  way — work  will  get  you  only 
so  far!" 

"  'S  that  so !"  murmured  Denver,  and  at  the  un 
spoken  challenge  the  brooding  resentment  of  Dru- 
silla  burst  forth. 

"Yes,  it  is!"  she  exclaimed,  "and,  just  because 
you've  vStruck  ore,  that  doesn't  prove  that  you're 
right  in  everything.  I've  worked  and  I've  worked, 
and  that's  all  the  good  it's  done  me — I'm  a  failure, 
in  spite  of  everything." 


SWEDE  LUCK  117 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  responded  Denver  with  a 
superior  smile,  "you've  still  got  your  five  hundred 
dollars.  A  man  is  never  whipped  till  he  thinks  he's 
whipped — why  don't  you  go  back  and  take  a  run 
at  it?" 

"Oh,  what's  the  use  of  talking?"  she  cried  jump 
ing  up,  "when  you  don't  know  a  thing  about  it? 
I've  tried  and  I've  tried  and  the  best  I  could  ever 
do  was  to  get  a  place  in  the  chorus.  And  there 
you  simply  ruin  your  voice  without  even  getting  a 
chance  of  recognition.  Oh,  I  get  so  exasperated 
to  see  those  Europeans  who  are  nothing  but  big, 
spoiled  children  go  right  into  a  try-out  and  take  a 
part  away  from  me  that  I  know  I  can  render  per 
fectly.  But  that's  it,  you  see,  they're  perfectly 
undisciplined,  but  they  can  throw  themselves  into 
the  part;  and  the  director  just  takes  my  name  and 
address  and  says  he'll  call  me  up  if  he  needs  me." 

Denver  grunted  and  said  nothing  and  as  he  swung 
his  hammer  again  the  leash  to  her  passions  gave 
way. 

"Yes,  and  I  hate  you!"  she  burst  out,  "you're 
so  big  and  self-satisfied.  But  I  guess  if  you  were 
trying  to  break  into  grand  opera  you  wouldn't  be 
quite  so  intolerant!" 

"No?"  commented  Denver  stopping  to  shift  his 
grip  and  she  stamped  her  foot  in  fury. 

"No,  you  wouldn't !"  she  cried  half  weeping  with 
rage  as  she  contemplated  the  wreck  of  her  hopes, 
"don't  you  know  that  Mary  Garden  and  Schumann- 
Heink  and  Geraldine  Farrar  and  all  of  them,  that 


u8  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

are  now  our  greatest  stars,  had  to  starve  and  skimp 
and  wait  on  the  impresarios  before  they  could  get 
their  chance?  There's  a  difference  between  digging 
a  hole  in  the  ground  and  moving  a  great  audience 
to  tears;  so  just  because  you  happen  to  be  suc 
ceeding  right  now,  don't  think  that  you  know 
it  all !" 

"All  right,"  agreed  Denver,  "I'll  try  to  remember 
thrvt.  And  of  course  I'm  nothing  but  a  miner.  But 
there's  one  thing,  and  I  know  it,  about  all  those 
great  stars — they  didn't  any  of  them  quit.  They 
might  have  been  hungry  and  out  of  a  job  but  they 
never  quit,  or  they  wouldn't  be  where  they  are." 

"Oh,  they  didn't,  eh?"  she  mocked  looking  him 
over  with  slow  scorn.  "And  I  suppose  that  you 
never  quit,  either?" 

"No,  I  never  did,"  answered  Denver  truthfully. 
"I've  never  laid  down  yet." 

"Well,  you're  young  yet,"  she  said  mimicking  his 
patronizing  tones,  "perhaps  that  will  come  to  you 
later." 

She  smiled  with  her  teeth  and  stalked  off  down 
the  trail,  leaving  Denver  with  something  to  think 
about. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  STRIKE 

DENVER  RUSSELL  was  young,  in  more  ways 
than  one,  but  that  did  not  prove  he  was 
wrong.  Perhaps  he  was  presumptuous  in  trying  to 
tell  an  artist  how  to  gain  a  foothold  on  the  stage, 
but  he  was  still  convinced  thaVin  grand  opera  as 
in  mining,  there  was  no  big  demand  for  a  quitter. 
As  for  that  swift,  back  stab,  that  veiled  intimation 
that  he  might  live  to  be  a  quitter  himself,  Denver 
resolved  then  and  there  not  to  quit  working  his 
mine  until  his  last  dollar  was  gone.  And,  while 
he  was  doing  that,  he  wondered  if  Drusilla  could 
boast  as  much  of  her  music.  Would  she  weaken 
again,  as  she  had  twice  already,  and  declare  that 
she  was  a  miserable  failure;  or  would  she  toil  on, 
as  he  did,  day  by  day,  refusing  to  acknowledge  she 
was  whipped? 

Denver  returned  to  his  cave  in  a  defiant  mood 
and  put  on  a  record  by  Schumann-Heink.  There 
was  one  woman  that  he  knew  had  fought  her  way 
through  everything  until  she  had  obtained  a  great 
success.  He  had  read  in  a  magazine  how  she  had 
been  turned  away  by  a  director  who  had  told  her 

119 


120  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

her  voice  was  hopeless;  and  how  later,  after  years 
of  privation  and  suffering,  she  ha^t  come  back  to 
that  same  director  and  he  had  been  forced  to 
acknowledge  her  genius.  And  it  was  all  there,  in 
her  voice,  the  sure  strength  that  comes  from  striv 
ing,  the  sweetness  that  comes  from  suffering;  and 
as  Denver  listened  to  her  "Cradle  Song"  he  remem 
bered  what  he  had  read  about  her  children.  Every 
night,  in  those  dark  times  when,  deserted  and  alone, 
she  sang  in  the  chorus  for  her  bread,  she  had  been 
compelled  for  lack  of  a  nursemaid  to  lock  her 
children  in  her  room;  and  evening  after  evening 
her  mother's  heart  was  tormented  by  fears  for  their 
safety.  What  if  the  house  should  burn  down  and 
destroy  them  all?  All  the  fear  and  love,  all  the 
anguished  tenderness  which  had  torn  her  heart 
through  those  years  was  written  on  the  stippled  disc, 
so  deeply  had  it  touched  her  life. 

Denver  put  them  all  on,  the  best  records  he  had 
by  singers  of  world  renown,  and  then  at  the  end 
he  put  on  the  "Barcarolle,"  the  duet  from  the  "Love 
Tales  of  Hoffmann."  For  him,  that  was  Drusilla's 
song,  the  expression  of  her  gayest,  happiest  self. 
Its  lilt  and  flow  recalled  her  to  his  thoughts  like 
the  embroidered  motifs  that  Wagner  used  to  an 
ticipate  the  coming  of  his  characters.  It  was  a 
light  song,  in  a  way,  not  the  greatest  of  music; 
but  while  she  was  singing  it  he  had  seen  her  for 
the  first  time  and  it  had  become  the  motif  of  her 
coming.  When  he  heard  it  he  saw  a  vision  of  a 
beautiful  young  girl,  singing  and  swaying  like  a 


THE  STRIKE  121 

slender  flower;  and  all  about  her  was  a  golden 
radiance  like  the  halo  of  St.  Cecelia.  And  to  him 
it  was  a  prophecy  of  her  ultimate  success,  for  when 
she  sung  it  she  had  won  his  heart.  So  he  played 
it  over  and  over,  but  when  he  had  finished  there  was 
silence  from  the  old  town  below. 

Yet  if  Drusilla  was  silent  it  was  not  from  despair 
for  in  the  morning  as  Denver  was  mucking  out  his 
tunnel  he  heard  her  clear  voice  mount  up  like  the 
light  of  some  bird. 

"Ah,  Ah-h-h-h,  ah,  ah,  ah,  ah,  ah,  ah,  ah." 

It  was  the  old  familiar  exercise,  rising  an  octave 
at  the  first  bound  and  then  fluttering  down  like 
some  gorgeous  butterfly  of  sound  till  it  rested  on 
the  octave  below.  And  at  each  renewed  flight  it 
began  a  note  higher  until  it  climbed  at  last  to  high 
C.  Then  it  ran  up  in  roulades  and  galloping  bra- 
vuras,  it  trilled  and  sought  out  new  flights;  yet 
always  with  the  pellucid  tones  of  the  flute,  the  sweet, 
virginal  purity  of  a  child.  She  was  right — there 
was  something  missing,  a  something  which  she 
groped  for  and  could  not  find,  a  something  which 
the  other  singers  had.  Denver  sensed  the  lack  dimly 
but  he  could  not  define  it,  all  he  knew  was  that  she 
left  out  herself.  In  the  brief  glimpse  he  had  of 
her  she  had  seemed  torn  by  dark  passions,  which 
caused  her  at  times  to  brood  among  the  sycamores 
and  again  to  seek  a  quarrel  with  him;  yet  all  this 
youthful  turbulence  was  left  out  of  her  singing — 
she  had  not  learned  to  express  her  emotions. 

Denver  listened  every  morning  as  he  came  out  of 


i22  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

his  dark  hole,  pushing  the  wheel-barrows  of  ore  and 
waste  before  him,  and  then  he  bade  farewell  to  sun, 
air  and  music  and  went  into  the  close,  dark  tunnel. 
By  the  light  of  a  single  candle,  thrust  into  its  dag 
ger-like  miner's  candlestick  and  stabbed  into  some 
seam  in  the  wall,  he  smashed  and  clacked  away  at 
his  drill  until  the  whole  face  was  honeycombed  with 
holes.  At  the  top  they  slanted  up,  at  the  bottom 
down,  to  keep  the  bore  broken  clean;  but  along 
the  sides  and  in  the  middle  they  followed  no  system, 
more  than  to  adapt  themselves  to  the  formation. 
When  his  round  of  holes  was  drilled  he  cut  his  fuse 
and  loaded  each  hole  with  its  charge;  after  which 
with  firm  hands  he  ignited  each  split  end  and  hur 
ried  out  of  the  tunnel.  There  he  sat  down  on  a 
rock  and  listened  to  the  shots;  first  the  short  holes 
in  the  center,  to  blow  out  the  crown;  then  the  side 
holes,  breaking  into  the  opening;  and  the  top-holes, 
shooting  the  rock  down  from  above ;  and  then,  last 
and  most  powerful,  the  deep  bottom  holes  that  threw 
the  dirt  back  down  the  tunnel  and  left  the  face  clear 
for  more  work. 

As  the  poisonous  smoke  was  drifting  slowly  out 
of  the  tunnel  mouth  Denver  fired  up  his  forge  and 
re-sharpened  his  drills;  and  then,  along  towards 
evening,  when  the  fumes  had  become  diffused,  he 
went  in  to  see  what  he  had  uncovered.  Sometimes 
the  vein  widened  or  developed  rich  lenses,  and  some 
times  it  pinched  down  until  the  walls  enclosed  noth 
ing  but  a  narrow  streak  of  talc ;  but  always  it  dipped 
down,  and  that  was  a  good  sign,  a  prophecy  of  the 


THE  STRIKE  123 

true  fissure  vein  to  come.  The  ore  that  he  mined 
now  was  a  mere  excrescence  of  the  great  ore-body 
he  hoped  to  find,  but  each  day  the  blanket-vein 
turned  and  dipped  on  itself  until  at  last  it  folded 
over  and  led  down.  In  a  huge  mass  of  rocks,  stuck 
together  by  crystals  of  silica  and  stained  by  the 
action  of  acids,  the  silver  and  copper  came  together 
and  intermingled  at  the  fissure  vent  which  had  pro 
duced  them  both.  Denver  stared  at  it  through  the 
powder  smoke,  then  he  grabbed  up  some  samples 
and  went  to  see  Bunker  Hill. 

Not  since  that  great  day  when  Denver  had 
struck  the  copper  had  Bunker  shown  any  interest 
in  the  mine.  He  sat  around  the  house  listening  to 
Drusilla  while  she  practiced  and  opening  the  store 
for  chance  customers;  but  towards  Denver  he  still 
maintained  a  grim-mouthed  reserve,  as  if  discour 
aging  him  from  asking  any  favors.  Perhaps  the 
fact  that  Denver's  money  was  all  gone  had  a  more 
or  less  direct  bearing  on  the  case;  but  though  he 
was  living  on  the  last  of  his  provisions  Denver  had 
refrained  from  asking  for  credit.  His  last  shipment 
of  powder  and  blacksmith's  coal  had  cost  twenty 
per  cent  more  than  he  had  figured  and  he  had  sent 
for  a  few  more  records;  and  after  paying  the  two 
bills  there  was  only  some  small  change  left  in  the 
wallet  which  had  once  bulged  with  greenbacks.  But 
his  pride  was  involved,  for  he  had  read  Drusilla  a 
lecture  on  the  evils  of  being  faint-hearted,  so  he 
had  simply  stopped  buying  at  the  little  store  and 
lived  on  what  he  had  left.  But  now — well,  with 


i24  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

that  fissure  vein  opened  up  and  a  solid  body  of  ore 
in  sight,  he  might  reasonably  demand  the  custom 
ary  accommodations  which  all  merchants  accord  to 
good  customers. 

"Well,  I've  struck  it,"  he  said  when  he  had 
Bunker  in  the  store,  "just  take  a  look  at  that!" 

He  handed  over  a  specimen  that  was  heavy  with 
coprer  and  Bunker  squinted  down  his  eyes. 

"Yes,  looks  good,"  he  observed  and  handed  it 
somberly  back. 

"I've  got  four  feet  of  it,"  announced  Denver 
gloating  over  the  specimens,  "and  the  vein  has 
turned  and  gone  down.  What's  the  chances  for 
some  grub  now,  on  account?  I'm  going  to  ship  that 
sacked  ore." 

"Danged  poor — with  me,"  answered  Bunker  with 
decision.  "You'd  better  try  your  luck  with 
Murray." 

"Oh,  boosting  for  Murray,  eh?"  remarked  Den 
ver  sarcastically.  "Well,  I  may  take  you  up  on  that, 
but  it's  too  far  to  walk  now  and  I've  been  living 
on  beans  for  a  week.  I  guess  I'm  good  for  a  few 
dollars'  worth." 

"Sure  you're  good  for  it,"  agreed  Bunker,  "but 
that  ain't  the  point.  The  question  is — when  will  I 
get  my  money?" 

"You'll  get  it,  by  grab,  as  soon  as  I  do,"  returned 
Denver  with  considerable  heat.  "What's  the  mat 
ter?  Ain't  that  ore  shipment  good  enough  secu 
rity?" 

"Well,  maybe  it  is,"  conceded  Bunker,  "but  you'll 


THE  STRIKE  125 

have  a  long  wait  for  your  money.  And  to  tell  you 
the  truth,  the  way  I'm  fixed  now,  I  can't  sell  except 
for  cash." 

"Oh!  Cash,  eh?"  sneered  Denver  suddenly  brist 
ling  with  resentment.  "It  seems  like  I've  heard  that 
before.  In  fact,  every  time  that  I  ask  you  for  a 
favor  you  turn  me  down  like  a  bum.  I  came 
through  here,  one  time,  so  danged  weak  I  could 
hardly  crawl  and  you  refused  to  even  give  me  a 
meal;  and  now,  when  I've  got  a  mine  that's  worth 
millions,  you've  still  got  your  hand  out  for  the 
money." 

"Well,  now  don't  get  excited,"  spoke  up  Bunker 
pacifically,  "you  can  have  what  grub  you  want.  But 
I'm  telling  you  the  truth — those  people  down  below 
won't  give  me  another  dollar's  worth  on  tick.  These 
are  hard  times,  boy,  the  hardest  I've  ever  seen,  and 
if  you'd  offer  me  that  mine  back  for  five  hundred 
cents  I  couldn't  raise  the  money.  That  shows  how 
broke  I  am,  and  I've  got  a  family  to  support." 

"Well,  that's  different,"  said  Denver.  "If  you're 
broke,  that  settles  it.  But  I'll  tell  you  one  thing, 
old-timer,  you  won't  be  broke  long.  I'm  going  to 
open  up  a  mine  here  that  will  beat  the  Lost  Burro. 
I've  got  copper,  and  that  beats  'em  all." 

"Sure  does,"  agreed  Bunker,  "but  it's  no  good 
for  shipping  ore.  It  takes  millions  to  open  up  a 
copper  property." 

"Yes,  and  it  brings  back  millions!"  boasted  Den 
ver  with  a  swagger.  "I'm  made,  if  I  can  only 
hold  onto  it.  But  I'll  tell  you  right  now,  if  you 


i26  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

want  to  hold  your  claims  you'd  better  do  a  little 
assessment  work.  There's  going  to  be  a  rush,  when 
this  strike  of  mine  gets  out,  that'll  make  your 
ground  worth  millions." 

Old  Bunk  smiled  indulgently  and  took  a  chew  of 
tobacco  and  Denver  came  back  to  earth. 

'Til  tell  you  what  I'll  do,"  proposed  Denver  after 
a  silence,  "I'll  take  a  contract  to  do  your  assessment 
work  for  ten  dollars  a  claim,  in  trade.  I'll  make 
an  open  cut  that's  four  by  six  by  ten,  and  that's 
held  to  be  legal  work  anywhere.  Come  on  now, 
I'm  tired  of  beans." 

"Well,  come  down  to  supper,"  replied  Bunker  at 
last,  "and  we'll  talk  it  over  there." 

"No,  I  don't  want  any  supper,"  returned  Denver 
resentfully,  "you've  got  enough  hoboes  to  feed. 
You  can  give  me  an  answer,  right  now." 

"All  right— I  won't  do  it,"  replied  Bunker 
promptly  and  turned  to  go  out  the  door;  but  it  had 
opened  behind  them  and  Drusilla  stood  there  smil 
ing,  a  mischievous  twinkle  in  her  eyes. 

"What  are  you  two  men  quarreling  about?"  she 
demanded  reprovingly,  "we  could  hear  you  clear 
over  to  the  house." 

"Well,  I  asked  him  over  to  supper,"  began 
Bunker  in  a  rage,  "and " 

"That's  got  nothing  to  do  with  it,"  broke  in  Den 
ver  hotly,  "I'm  making  him  a  business  proposition. 
But  he's  so  danged  bull-headed  he'd  rather  kill  some 
jumper  than  comply  with  the  law  as  it  stands.  He's 
been  holding  down  these  claims  with  a  lead-pencil 


THE  STRIKE  127 

and  a  six-shooter  just  about  as  long  as  he  can 
and " 

"Oh,  have  you  made  another  strike?"  asked  Dru- 
silla  eagerly  and  when  she  heard  the  news  she  turned 
to  her  father  with  a  sudden  note  of  gladness  in 
her  voice.  "Then  you'll  have  to  do  the  work,"  she 
said,  "because  I'll  never  be  happy  till  you  do.  Ever 
since  you  sold  your  claim  I've  been  sorry  for  my 
selfishness  but  now  I'm  going  to  pay  you  back.  I'm 
going  to  take  my  five  hundred  dollars  and  hire  this 
assessment  work  done  and  then " 

"It  won't  cost  any  five  hundred,"  put  in  Denver 
hastily.  "I'm  kinder  short,  right  now,  and  I  offered 
to  do  it  for  ten  dollars  a  claim,  in  trade." 

"Ten  dollars?  Why,  how  can  you  do  it  for 
that?  I  thought  the  law  required  a  ten  foot  hole, 
or  the  same  amount  of  work  in  a  tunnel." 

"Or  an  open  cut,"  hinted  Denver.  "Leave  it  to 
me — I  can  do  it  and  make  money,  to  boot." 

"Well,  you're  hired,  then!"  cried  Drusilla  with 
a  rush  of  enthusiasm,  "but  you  have  to  go  to  work 
to-morrow." 

"Well— 11,"  qualified  Denver,  "I  wanted  to  look 
over  my  strike  and  finish  sacking  that  ore. 
Wouldn't  the  next  day  do  just  as  well  ?" 

"No,  it  wouldn't,"  she  replied.  "You  can  give 
me  an  answer,  right  now." 

"Well,  I'll  go  you!"  said  Denver  and  Old  Bunker 
grunted  and  regarded  them  with  a  wry,  knowing 
smile. 


CHAPTER  XV 

A  NIGHT  FOR  LOVE 

'TpHERE  was  music  that  evening  in  the  Bunker 
-*-  Hill  mansion  but  Denver  Russell  sat  sulking 
in  his  cave  with  no  company  but  an  inquisitive  pack- 
rat.  He  regretted  now  his  curt  refusal  to  join  the 
Hills  at  supper,  for  Drusilla  was  singing  gloriously ; 
but  a  man  without  pride  is  a  despicable  creature  and 
Old  Bunk  had  tried  to  insult  him.  So  he  went  to 
bed  and  early  in  the  morning,  while  the  shadow 
of  Apache  Leap  still  lay  like  a  blanket  across  the 
plain,  he  set  out  to  fulfill  his  contract.  Across  one 
shoulder  he  hung  a  huge  canteen  of  water,  on  the 
other  a  sack  of  powder  and  fuse;  and,  to  top  off 
his  burden,  he  carried  a  long  steel  churn-drill  and 
a  spoon  for  scooping  out  the  muck. 

The  discovery  hole  of  Bunker's  Number  Two 
claim  was  just:  up  the  creek  from  his  own  and, 
after  looking  it  over,  Denver  climbed  up  the  bank 
and  measured  off  six  feet  from  the  edge.  Then, 
raising  the  steel  bar,  he  struck  it  into  the  ground, 
churning  it  rhythmically  up  and  down;  and  as  the 
hole  rapidly  deepened  he  spooned  it  out  and  poured 
in  a  little  more  water.  It  was  the  same  uninterest 
ing  work  that  he  had  seen  men  do  when  they  were 

128 


A  NIGHT  FOR  LOVE  129 

digging  a  railroad  cut;  and  the  object  was  the  same, 
to  shoot  down  the  dirt  with  the  minimum  of  labor 
and  powder.  But  with  Denver  it  became  a  work  of 
art,  a  test  of  his  muscle  and  skill,  and  at  each  down 
ward  thrust  he  bent  from  the  hips  and  struck  with 
a  deep-chested  "Huh!" 

An  hour  passed  by,  and  half  the  length  of  the 
drill  was  buried  at  the  end  of  the  stroke ;  and  then, 
as  he  paused  to  wipe  the  sweat  from  his  eyes, 
Denver  saw  that  his  activities  were  being  noted. 
Drusilla  was  looking  on  from  the  trail  below,  and 
apparently  with  the  greatest  interest.  She  was 
dressed  in  a  corduroy  suit,  with  a  broad  sombrero 
against  the  sun;  and  as  she  came  up  the  slope  she 
leapt  from  rock  to  rock  in  a  heavy  pair  of  boys' 
high  boots.  There  was  nothing  of  the  singer  about 
her  now,  nor  of  the  filmy-clad  barefooted  dancer; 
the  jagged  edge  of  old  Final  would  permit  of  noth 
ing  so  effeminate.  Yet,  over  the  rocks  as  on  the 
smooth  trails,  she  had  a  grace  that  was  all  her  own, 
for  those  hillsides  had  been  her  home. 

"Well,  how's  the  millionaire?"  she  inquired  with 
a  smile  that  made  his  fond  heart  miss  a  beat.  "Is 
this  the  way  you  do  it?  Are  you  just  going  to 
drill  one  hole?" 

"That's  the  dope,"  replied  Denver,  "sink  it  down 
ten  feet  and  blow  the  whole  bank  off  with  one  shot. 
It's  as  easy  as  shooting  fish." 

"Why,  you're  down  half-way,  already!"  she 
cried  in  amazement.  "How  long  before  you'll  be 
done?" 


i3o  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

"Oh,  half  an  hour  or  so,"  said  Denver.  "Want 
to  wait  and  see  the  blast?  I  learned  this  system  on 
the  railroad." 

"You'll  be  through,  then,  before  noon!"  she  ex 
claimed.  "You're  actually  making  money." 

"Well,  a  little,"  admitted  Denver,  "but,  of  course, 
if  you're  not  satisfied " 

"Oh,  I'm  satisfied,"  she  protested,  "I  was  only 
thinking — but  then,  it's  always  that  way.  There 
are  some  people,  of  course,  who  can  make  money 
anywhere.  How  does  it  feel  to  be  a  millionaire?" 

"Fine !"  grinned  Denver,  chugging  away  with  his 
drill,  "this  is  the  way  they  all  got  their  start.  The 
Armstrong  method — and  that's  where  I  shine ;  I  can 
break  more  ground  that  any  two  men." 

"Well,  I  believe  you  can,"  she  responded  frankly, 
"and  I  hope  you  have  a  great  success.  I  didn't  like 
it  very  well  when  you  called  me  a  quitter,  but  I 
can  see  now  what  you  meant.  Did  you  ever  study 
music  at  all?" 

Denver  stopped  his  steady  churning  to  glance  at 
her  quickly  and  then  he  nodded  his  head. 

"I  played  the  violin,  before  I  went  to  mining. 
Had  to  quit  then — it  stiffens  up  your  fingers." 

"What  a  pity!"  she  cried.  "But  that  explains 
about  your  records — I  knew  you'd  heard  good  music 
somewhere." 

"Yes,  and  I'm  going  to  hear  more,"  he  answered 
impressively,  "I'm  not  going  to  blow  my  money. 
I'm  going  back  to  New  York,  where  all  those  singers 
live.  The  other  boys  can  have  the  booze." 


A  NIGHT  FOR  LOVE  131 

"Don't  you  drink  at  all?"  she  questioned  eagerly. 
"Don't  you  even  smoke?  Well,  I'm  going  right 
back  and  tell  father.  He  told  me  that  all  miners 
spent  their  money  in  drinking — why  wouldn't  you 
come  over  to  supper?" 

She  shot  the  question  at  him  in  the  quick  way 
she  had,  but  Denver  did  not  answer  it  directly. 

"Never  mind,"  he  said,  "but  I  will  tell  you  one 
thing — I'm  not  a  hobo  miner." 

"No,  I  knew  you  weren't,"  she  responded 
quickly.  "Won't  you  come  over  to  supper  to-night  ? 
I  might  sing  for  you,"  she  suggested  demurely ;  but 
Denver  shook  his  head. 

"Nope,"  he  said,  "your  old  man  took  me  for  a 
hobo  and  he  can't  get  the  idea  out  of  his  head. 
What  did  he  say  when  you  gave  me  this  job?" 

"Well,  he  didn't  object;  but  I  guess,  if  you  don't 
mind,  we'll  only  do  three  or  four  claims.  He  says 
I'll  need  the  money  back  East." 

"Yes,  you  will,"  agreed  Denver.  "Five  hundred 
isn't  much.  If  I  was  flush  I'd  do  this  for  noth- 
ing." 

"Oh,  no,"  she  protested,  "I  couldn't  allow  that. 
But  if  there  should  be  a  rush,  and  father's  claims 
should  be  jumped " 

"You'd  have  the  best  of  them,  anyway.  I 
wouldn't  tempt  old  Murray  too  far." 

"No,"  she  said,  "and  that  reminds  me — I  hear 
that  he's  made  a  strike.  But  say,  here's  a  good 
joke  on  the  Professor.  You  know  he  thinks  he's 
a  mining  expert,  and  he's  been  crazy  to  look  at  the 


132  SILVER  AND   GOLD 

diamond  drill  cores;  and  the  other  day  the  boss 
driller  was  over  and  he  told  me  how  he  got  rid 
of  him.  You  know,  in  drilling  down  they  run  into 
cavities  where  the  lime  has  been  leached  away,  and 
in  order  to  keep  the  bore  intact  they  pour  them  full 
of  cement.  Well,  when  the  Professor  insisted  upon 
seeing  the  core  and  wouldn't  take  no  for  an  answer, 
Mr.  Menzger  just  gave  him  a  section  of  concrete, 
where  they'd  bored  through  a  filled-up  hole.  And 
Mr.  Diffenderfer  just  looked  so  wise  and  examined 
it  through  his  microscope,  and  then  he  said  it  was 
very  good  rock  and  an  excellent  indication  of  cop 
per.  Isn't  that  just  too  rich  for  anything?" 

"Yeh,"  returned  Denver  with  a  thin-lipped  smile. 
And  then,  before  he  thought  how  it  sounded:  "Say, 
who  is  this  Mr.  Menzger,  anyway  ?" 

"Oh,  he's  a  friend  of  ours,"  she  answered  droop 
ing  her  eyelashes  coquettishly.  "He  gets  lonely 
sometimes  and  comes  down  to  hear  me  sing — he's 
been  in  New  York  and  everywhere." 

"Yes,  he  must  be  a  funny  guy,"  observed  Denver 
mirthlessly.  "Any  relation  to  that  feller  they  call 
Dave?" 

"Oh,  Mr.  Chatwourth?  No,  he's  from  Ken 
tucky — they  say  he's  the  last  of  his  family.  All 
the  others  were  killed  in  one  of  those  mountain 
feuds — Mr.  Menzger  says  he's  absolutely  fear 
less." 

"Well,  what  did  he  leave  home  for,  then?"  in 
quired  Denver  arrogantly.  "He  don't  Look  very  bad 
to  me.  I  guess  if  he  was  fearless  he'd  be  back  in 


A  NIGHT  FOR  LOVE  133 

Kentucky,  shooting  it  out  with  the  rest  of  the 
bunch." 

"No,  it  seems  that  his  father  on  his  dying  bed 
commanded  him  to  leave  the  country,  because  there 
were  too  many  of  the  others  against  him.  But 
Mr.  Menzger  tells  me  he's  a  professional  killer,  and 
that's  why  Old  Murray  hired  him.  Do  you  think 
they  would  jump  our  claims?" 

"They  would  if  they  struck  copper,"  replied  Den 
ver  bluntly.  "And  old  Murray  warned  me  not  to 
buy  from  your  father — that  shows  he's  got  his  eye 
on  your  property.  It's  a  good  thing  we're  doing 
this  work." 

"Weren't  you  afraid,  then?"  she  asked,  putting 
the  wonder-note  into  her  voice  and  laying  aside 
her  frank  manner,  "weren't  you  afraid  to  buy  our 
claim?  Or  did  you  feel  that  you  were  guided  to 
it,  and  all  would  be  for  the  best?" 

"That's  it!"  exclaimed  Denver  suddenly  putting 
down  his  drill  to  gaze  into  her  innocent  young  eyes. 
"I  was  guided,  and  so  I  bought  it  anyhow." 

"Oh,  I  think  it's  so  romantic!"  she  murmured 
with  a  sigh,  "won't  you  tell  me  how  it  happened?" 

And  then  Denver  Russell,  forgetting  the  seeress* 
warning  at  the  very  moment  he  was  discussing  her, 
sat  down  on  a  rock  and  gave  Drusilla  the  whole 
story  of  his  search  for  the  gold  and  silver  treasures. 
But  at  the  end — when  she  questioned  him  about 
the  rest  of  the  prophecy* — he  suddenly  recalled 
Mother  Trigedgo's  admonition:  "Beware  how  you 


i34  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

reveal  your  affection  or  she  will  confer  her  hand 
upon  another." 

A  shadow  came  into  his  blue  eyes  and  his  boyish 
enthusiasm  was  stilled ;  and  Drusilla,  who  had  been 
practicing  her  stage-learned  wiles,  suddenly  found 
her  technique  at  fault.  She  chattered  on,  trying 
subtly  to  ensnare  him,  but  Denver's  heart  was  now 
of  adamant  and  he  failed  to  respond  to  her  ap 
proaches.  It  was  not  too  late  yet  to  heed  the  words 
of  the  prophecy,  and  he  drilled  on  in  thoughtful 
silence. 

"Don't  you  get  lonely?"  she  burst  out  at  last, 
"living  all  by  yourself  in  that  cave?  Why,  even 
these  old  prospectors  have  to  have  some  pardner — 
don't  you  ever  feel  the  need  of  a  friend?" 

There  it  was — he  felt  it  coming — the  appeal  to 
be  just  friends.  But  another  girl  had  tried  it 
already,  and  he  had  learned  about  women  from  her. 

"No,"  he  said  shortly,  "I  don't  need  no  friends. 
Say,  I'm  going  to  load  this  hole  now." 

"Well,  go  on!"  she  challenged,  "I'm  not  afraid. 
"I'll  stay  here  as  long  as  you  do." 

"All  right,"  he  said  lowering  his  powder  down 
the  hole  and  tamping  it  gently  with  a  stick,  "I  see 
I  can't  scare  you" 

"Oh,  you  thought  you  could  scare  me !"  she  burst 
out  mockingly,  "I  suppose  you're  a  great  success 
with  the  girls." 

"Well,"  he  mocked  back,  "a  good-looking  fellow 

like  me "  And  then  he  paused  and  grinned 

slyly. 


A  NIGHT  FOR  LOVE  135 

"Oh,  what's  the  use!"  she  exclaimed,  rising  up 
in  disgust,  "I  might  as  well  quit,  right  now." 

"No,  don't  go  off  mad!"  he  remonstrated  gal 
lantly.  "Stay  and  see  the  big  explosion." 

"I  don't  care  that  for  your  explosion!"  she 
answered  pettishly  and  snapped  her  fingers  in  the 
air. 

It  was  the  particular  gesture  with  which  the 
coquettish  Carmen  was  wont  to  dismiss  her  lovers ; 
but  as  she  strode  down  the  hill  Drusilla  herself  was 
heart-broken,  for  her  coquetry  had  come  to  naught. 
This  big  Western  boy,  this  unsophisticated  miner, 
had  sensed  her  wiles  and  turned  them  upon  her — 
how  then  could  she  hope  to  succeed?  If  her  eyes 
had  no  allure  for  a  man  like  him,  how  could  she 
hope  to  fascinate  an  audience?  And  Carmen  and 
half  the  heroines  of  modern  light  opera  were  all  of 
them  incorrigible  flirts.  They  flirted  with  servants, 
with  barbers,  with  strolling  actors,  with  their  own 
and  other  women's  husbands ;  until  the  whole  atmos 
phere  fairly  reeked  of  intrigue,  of  amours  and  co 
quettish  escapades.  To  the  dark-eyed  Europeans 
these  wiles  were  instinctive  but  with  her  they  were 
an  art,  to  be  acquired  laboriously  as  she  had  learned 
to  dance  and  sing.  But  flirt  she  could  not,  for 
Denver  Russell  had  flouted  her,  and  now  she  had 
lost  his  respect. 

A  tear  came  to  her  eye,  for  she  was  beginning 
to  like  him,  and  he  would  think  that  she  flirted 
with  everyone;  yet  how  was  she  to  learn  to  suc 
ceed  in  her  art  if  she  had  no  experience  with  men? 


136  SILVER  AND   GOLD 

It  was  that,  in  fact,  which  her  teacher  had  hinted 
at  when  he  had  told  her  to  go  out  and  live;  but 
her  heart  was  not  in  it,  she  took  no  pleasure  in 
deceit — and  yet  she  longed  for  success.  She  could 
sing  the  parts,  she  had  learned  her  French  and 
Italian  and  taken  instruction  in  acting;  but  she 
lacked  the  verve,  the  passionate  abandon,  without 
which  she  could  never  succeed.  Yet  succeed  she 
must,  or  break  her  father's  heart  and  make  his 
great  sacrifice  a  mockery.  She  turned  and  looked 
back  at  Denver  Russell,  and  that  night  she  sang — 
for  him. 

He  was  up  there  in  his  cave  looking  down  in 
differently,  thinking  himself  immune  to  her  charms; 
yet  her  pride  demanded  that  she  conquer  him  com 
pletely  and  bring  him  to  her  feet,  a  slave!  She 
sang,  attired  in  filmy  garments,  by  the  light  of  the 
big,  glowing  lamp;  and  as  her  voice  took  on  a 
passionate  tenderness,  her  mother  looked  up  from 
her  work.  Then  Bunker  awoke  from  his  gloomy 
thoughts  and  glanced  across  at  his  wife;  and  they 
sat  there  in  silence  while  she  sang  on  and  on,  the 
gayest,  sweetest  songs  that  she  knew.  But  Dru- 
silla's  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  open  doorway,  on  the 
darkness  which  lay  beyond;  and  at  last  she  saw 
him,  a  dim  figure  in  the  distance,  a  presence  that 
moved  and  was  gone.  She  paused  and  glided  off  into 
her  song  of  songs,  the  "Barcarolle"  from  "Love 
Tales  of  Hoffman,"  and  as  her  voice  floated  out 
to  him  Denver  rose  up  from  his  hiding  and  stepped 
boldly  into  the  moonlight.  He  stood  there  like  a 


A  NIGKT  FOR  LOVE  137 

hero  in  some  Wagnerian  opera,  where  men  take  the 
part  of  gods,  and  as  she  gazed  the  mockery  went 
out  of  her  song  and  she  sang  of  love  alone.  Such 
a  love  as  women  know  who  love  one  man  forever 
and  hold  all  his  love  in  return,  yet  the  words  were 
the  same  as  those  of  false  Giuletta  when  she  fled 
with  the  perfidious  Dapertutto. 

"Night  divine,  O  night  of  love, 
O  smile  on  our  enchantment 
Moon  and  stars  keep  watch  above 
This  radiant  night  of  love!" 

She  floated  away  in  the  haunting  chorus,  over 
come  by  the  madness  of  its  spell;  and  when  she 
awoke  the  song  was  ended  and  love  had  claimed 
her  too. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

A   FRIEND 

ANEW  spirit,  a  strange  gladness,  had  come 
over  Brasilia  and  parts  which  had  been  dif 
ficult  became  suddenly  easy  when  she  took  up 
her  work  the  next  day;  but  when  she  walked  out 
in  the  cool  of  the  evening  the  sombrero  and  boy's 
boots  were  gone.  She  wore  a  trailing  robe,  such 
as  great  ladies  wear  when  they  go  to  keep  a  tryst 
with  knightly  lovers,  and  she  went  up  the  trail 
to  where  Denver  was  working  on  the  last  of  her 
father's  claims.  He  was  up  on  the  high  cliff,  busily 
tamping  the  powder  that  was  to  blast  out  the  side 
of  the  hill,  and  she  waited  patiently  until  he  had 
fired  it  and  come  down  the  slope  with  his  tools. 

"That  makes  four,"  he  said,  "and  I'm  all  out 
of  powder."  But  she  only  answered  with  a  smile. 

"I'll  have  to  wait,  now,"  he  went  on  bluffly, 
"until  McGraw  comes  up  again,  before  I  can  do 
any  more  work." 

"Yes,"  she  answered  and  smiled  again;  a  slow, 
expectant  smile. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  demanded  and  then  his 
face  changed  and  he  fumbled  with  the  strap  of  his 
canteen.  And  when  he  looked  up  his  eyes  met 

138 


A  FRIEND  139 

hers  and  there  was  no  longer  any  secret  between 
them. 

"You  can  rest  a  few  days,  then,"  she  suggested 
softly,  "I'd  like  to  hear  some  of  your  records." 

"Yes — sure,  sure,"  he  burst  out  hastily  and  they 
walked  down  the  trail  together.  She  went  on  ahead 
with  the  quick  step  of  a  dancer  and  Denver  looked 
up  at  an  eagle  in  the  sky,  as  if  in  some  way  it 
could  understand.  But  the  eagle  soared  on,  with 
out  effort  and  without  ceasing,  and  Denver  could 
only  be  glad.  In  some  way,  far  beyond  him,  she 
had  divined  his  love;  but  it  was  not  to  be  spoken 
of — now.  That  would  spoil  it  all,  the  days  of  sweet 
communion,  the  pretence  that  nothing  had  changed ; 
yet  they  knew  it  had  changed  and  in  the  sharing 
of  that  great  secret  lay  the  tie  that  should  bind 
them  together.  Denver  looked  from  the  eagle  to 
the  glorious  woman  and  remembered  the  prophecy 
again.  Even  yet  he  must  beware,  he  must  veil  every 
glance,  treat  her  still  like  a  simple  country  child; 
for  the  seeress  had  warned  him  that  his  fate  hung 
in  the  balance  and  she  might  still  confer  her  hand 
upon  another. 

In  the  happy  days  that  followed  he  did  no  more 
work,  further  than  to  sack  his  ore  and  ship  it;  but 
all  his  thoughts  were  centered  upon  Drusilla  who 
was  friendly  and  elusive  by  turns.  On  that  first 
precious  evening  she  came  up  with  her  father  and 
inspected  his  smoke-blackened  cave,  and  over  his 
new  records  there  sprang  up  a  conversation  that 
held  him  entranced  for  hours.  She  had  been  to  the 


I4o  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

Metropolitan  and  the  Boston  Opera  Houses  and 
heard  the  great  singers  at  their  best ;  she  understood 
their  language,  whether  it  was  French  or  Italian 
or  the  now  proscribed  German  of  Wagner,  and  she 
listened  to  the  records  again  and  again,  trying  to 
steal  the  secret  of  their  success.  But  through  it  all 
she  was  gentle  and  friendly,  and  all  her  old  quar 
relsomeness  was  gone. 

A  week  passed  like  a  day,  full  of  dreams  and 
half-uttered  confidences  and  long,  contented  si 
lences;  and  then,  as  they  sat  in  the  shade  of  the 
giant  sycamore  Denver  let  his  eyes  that  had  been 
fixed  upon  Drusilla,  stray  and  sweep  the  lower 
road. 

"What  are  you  looking  for  now?"  she  de 
manded  impatiently  and  he  turned  back  with  a 
guilty  grin. 

"McGraw,"  he  said  and  she  frowned  to  herself 
for  at  last  the  world  had  come  between  them.  For 
a  week  he  had  been  idle,  a  heaven-sent  companion 
in  the  barren  loneliness  of  life;  but  now,  when  his 
powder  and  mining  supplies  arrived,  he  would  be 
come  the  old  hard-working  miner.  He  would  go 
into  his  dark  tunnel  before  the  sun  was  up  and  not 
come  out  till  it  was  low  in  the  west,  and  instead 
of  being  clean  and  handsome  as  a  young  god  he 
would  come  forth  like  a  groveling  gnome.  His 
face  would  be  grimy,  his  hands  gnarled  with  strik 
ing,  his  digging-clothes  covered  with  candle-grease: 
and  his  body  would  reek  with  salty  sweat  and  the 
rank,  muggy  odor  of  powder  fumes.  And  he  would 


A  FRIEND  141 

crawl  back  to  his  cave  like  an  outworn  beast  of 
burden,  to  sleep  while  she  sang  to  him  from 
below. 

"Will  you  go  back  to  work?"  she  asked  at  last 
and  he  nodded  and  stretched  his  great  arms. 

"Back  to  work!"  he  repeated,  "and  I  guess  it's 
about  time.  I  wonder  how  much  credit  Murray 
gave  me?" 

Drusilla  said  nothing.  She  was  looking  far  away 
and  wondering  at  the  thing  we  call  life. 

"Why  do  you  work  so  hard?"  she  inquired,  half 
complainingly.  "Is  that  all  there  is  in  the  world?" 

"No,  lots  of  other  things,"  he  answered  care 
lessly,  "but  work  is  the  only  way  to  get  them.  I'm 
on  my  way,  see?  I've  just  begun.  You  wait  till 
I  open  up  that  mine!" 

"Then  what  will  you  do?"  she  murmured  pen 
sively,  "go  ahead  and  open  up  another  mine?" 

"Well,  I  might,"  he  admitted.  "Don't  you  re 
member  that  other  treasure?  There's  a  gold-mine 
around  here,  somewhere." 

"Oh,  is  that  all  you  think  about?"  she  protested 
with  a  smile.  "There  are  lots  of  other  treasures, 
you  know." 

"Yes,  but  this  one  was  prophesied,"  returned 
Denver  doggedly.  "I'm  bound  to  find  it,  now." 

"But  Denver,"  she  insisted,  "don't  you  see  what 
I  mean?  These  fortune-tellers  never  tell  you, 
straight  out.  Yours  said,  'a  golden  treasure,'  but 
that  doesn't  mean  a  gold  mine.  There  are  other 
treasures,  besides." 


i42  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

"For  instance?"  he  suggested  and  she  looked  far 
away  as  if  thinking  of  some  she  might  name. 

"Well,"  she  said  at  length,  "there  are  opals,  for 
one.  They  are  beautiful,  and  look  like  golden  fire. 
Or  it  might  be  a  rare  old  violin  that  would  bring 
back  your  music  again.  I  saw  one  once  that  was 
golden  yellow — wouldn't  you  like  to  play  while  I 
sing?  But  if  you  spend  all  your  life  trying  to  grub 
out  more  riches  you  will  lose  your  appreciation  of 
art." 

"Yes,  but  wait,"  persisted  Denver,  "I'm  just  get 
ting  started.  I  haven't  got  a  dollar  to  my  name. 
If  Murray  don't  send  me  the  supplies  that  I  ordered 
I'll  have  to  go  to  work  for  my  grub.  The  jewels 
can  wait,  and  the  yellow  violins,  but  I  know  that 
she  meant  a  mine.  It  would  have  to  be  a  mine 
or  I  couldn't  choose  between  them — and  when  I 
make  my  stake  I'm  going  to  buy  out  the  Professor 
and  see  what  he's  got  underground.  Of  course,  it's 
only  a  stringer  now  but " 

"Oh  dear,"  sighed  Drusilla  and  then  she  rose  up, 
but  she  did  not  go  away.  "Aren't  you  glad,"  she 
asked,  "that  we've  had  this  week  together?  I  sup 
pose  I'm  going  to  miss  you,  now.  That's  the  trouble 
with  being  a  woman — we  get  to  be  so  dependent. 
Can  I  play  over  your  records,  sometimes?" 

"Sure,"  said  Denver,  "say,  I'm  going  up  there 
now  to  see  if  McGraw  isn't  in  sight.  Would  you 
like  to  come  along  too?  We  can  sit  outside  in  the 
shade  and  watch  for  his  dust,  down  the  road." 

"Well,  I  ought  to  be  studying,"  she  assented 


A  FRIEND  143 

reluctantly,  "but  I  guess  I  can  go  up— for  a  while." 
They  clambered  up  together  over  the  ancient, 
cliff-dwellers'  trail,  where  each  foothold  was  worn 
deep  in  the  rock ;  but  as  they  sat  within  the  shadow 
of  the  beetling  cliff  Drusilla  sighed  again. 

"Do  you  think?"  she  asked,  "that  there  will  be 
a  great  rush  when  they  hear  about  your  strike  down 
in  Moroni?  Because  then  I'll  have  to  go — I  can't 
practice  the  way  I  have  been  with  the  whole  town 
filled  up  with  miners.  And  everything  will  be 
changed — I'd  almost  rather  it  wouldn't  happen,  and 
have  things  the  way  they  are  now.  Of  course  I'll 
be  glad  for  father's  sake,  because  he's  awfully 
worried  about  money;  but  sometimes  I  think  we're 
happier  the  way  we  are  than  we  will  be  when  we're 
all  of  us  rich.  What  will  be  the  first  thing  you'll  do?" 
"Well,"  began  Denver,  his  eyes  still  on  the  road, 
"the  first  thing  is  to  open  her  up.  There's  no  use 
trying  to  interest  outside  capital  until  you've  got 
some  ore  in  sight.  Then  I'll  go  over  to  Globe  to  a 
man  that  I  know  and  come  back  with  a  hundred 
thousand  dollars.  That's  right — I  know  him  well, 
and  he  knows  me — and  he's  told  me  repeatedly  if 
I  find  anything  big  enough  he's  willing  to  put  that 
much  into  it.  He  came  up  from  nothing,  just  an 
ordinary  miner,  but  now  he's  got  money  in  ten 
different  banks,  and  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  is 
nothing  to  him.  But  his  time  is  valuable,  can't  stop 
to  look  at  prospects;  so  the  first  thing  I  do  is  to 
open  up  that  mine  until  I  can  show  a  big  deposit 
of  copper.  The  silver  and  lead  will  pay  all  the 


144  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

expenses — and  you  wait,  when  that  ore  gets  down 
to  the  smelter  I'll  bet  there'll  be  somebody  coming 
up  here.  It  runs  a  thousand  ounces  to  the  ton  or 
I'm  a  liar,  the  way  I've  sorted  it  out;  but  of  course 
old  Murray  and  the  rest  of  'em  will  rob  me.  I  don't 
expect  more  than  three  hundred  dollars." 

"Isn't  it  wonderful,"  murmured  Drusilla,  "and 
to  think  it  all  happened  just  from  having  your  for 
tune  told !  I'm  going  over  to  Globe  before  I  start 
back  East  and  get  her  to  tell  my  fortune,  too;  but 
of  course  it  can't  be  as  wonderful  as  yours — you 
must  have  been  just  born  lucky." 

"Well,  maybe  I  was,"  said  Denver  with  a  shrug, 
"but  it  isn't  all  over  yet — I  still  stand  a  chance  to 
lose.  And  she  told  me  some  other  things  that  are 
not  so  pleasant — sometimes  I  wish  I'd  never  gone 
near  her." 

"Oh,  what  are  they?"  she  asked  in  a  hushed 
eager  voice;  but  Denver  ignored  the  question. 
Never,  not  even  to  his  dearest  friend,  would  he  tell 
the  forecasting  of  his  death;  and  as  for  dearest 
friends,  if  he  ever  had  another  pardner  he  could 
never  trust  him  a  minute.  The  chance  slipping  of 
a  pick,  a  missed  stroke  with  a  hammer,  any  one 
of  a  thousand  trivial  accidents,  and  the  words  of 
the  prophecy  would  come  to  pass — he  would  be 
killed  before  his  time.  But  if  he  favored  one  man 
no  more  than  another,  if  he  avoided  his  former 
pardners  and  friends,  then  he  might  live  to  be  one 
of  the  biggest  mining  men  in  the  country  and  to 
win  Drusilla  for  his  wife. 


A  FRIEND  145 

'Til  tell  you,"  he  said  meditatively,  "you'd  better 
keep  away  from  her.  A  man  does  better  without 
it.  Suppose  she'd  tell  you,  for  instance,  that  you'd 
get  killed  in  a  cave  like  she  did  Jack  Chambers 
over  in  Globe;  you'd  be  scared  then,  all  the  time 
you  were  under  ground — it  ruins  a  man  for  a  miner. 
No,  it's  better  not  to  know  it  at  all.  Just  go  ahead, 
the  best  you  know  how,  and  play  your  cards  to 
win,  and  I'll  bet  it  won't  be  but  a  year  or  two  until 
you're  a  regular  operatic  star.  They'll  be  selling 
your  records  for  three  dollars  apiece,  and  all  those 
managers  will  be  bidding  for  you;  but  if  Mother 
Trigedgo  should  tell  you  some  bad  news  it  might 
hurt  you — it  might  spoil  your  nerve." 

"Oh,  did  she  tell  you  something?"  cried  Drusilla 
apprehensively.  "Do  tell  me  what  it  was !  I  won't 
breathe  it  to  a  soul;  and  if  you  could  share  it  with 
some  friend,  don't  you  think  it  would  ease  your 
mind?" 

Denver  looked  at  her  slowly,  then  he  turned  away 
and  shook  his  head  in  refusal. 

"Oh,  Denver!"  she  exclaimed  as  she  sensed  the 
significance  of  it,  and  before  he  knew  it  she  was 
patting  his  work-hardened  hand.  "I'm  sorry,"  she 
said,  "but  if  ever  I  can  help  you  I  want  you  to 
let  me  know.  Would  it  help  to  have  me  for  a 
friend?" 

"A  friend !"  he  repeated,  and  then  he  drew  back 
and  the  horror  came  into  his  eyes.  She  was  his 
friend  already,  the  dearest  friend  he  had — was  she 
destined  then  to  kill  him? 


i46  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

"No !"  he  said,  "I  don't  want  any  friends.  Come 
on,  I  believe  that's  McGraw." 

He  rose  up  hastily  and  held  out  his  hand  to  help 
her  but  she  refused  to  accept  his  aid.  Her  lips 
were  trembling,  there  were  tears  in  her  eyes  and 
her  breast  was  beginning  to  heave;  but  there  was 
no  explanation  he  could  give.  He  wanted  her,  yes, 
but  not  as  a  friend — as  his  beloved,  his  betrothed, 
his  wife!  By  any  name,  but  not  by  the  name  of 
friend.  He  drew  away  slowly  as  her  head  bowed 
to  her  knees;  and  at  last  he  left  her,  weeping.  It 
was  best,  after  all,  for  how  could  he  comfort  her? 
And  he  could  see  McGraw's  dust  down  the  road. 

"I'm  going  to  meet  McGraw !"  he  called  back 
from  the  steps  and  went  bounding  off  down  the 
trail. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

BROKE 

McGRAW,  the  freighter,  was  a  huge,  silent  man 
from  whom  long  years  on  the  desert  had 
almost  taken  the  desire  for  speech.  He  came 
jangling  up  the  road,  his  wagons  grinding  and  bang 
ing,  his  horses  straining  wearily  in  their  collars; 
and  as  Denver  ran  to  meet  him  he  threw  on  the 
brakes  and  sat  blinking  solemnly  at  his  inquisitor. 

"Where's  my  powder?"  demanded  Denver  look 
ing  over  the  load,  "and  say,  didn't  you  bring  that 
coal  ?  I  don't  see  that  steel  I  ordered,  either !" 

"No,"  said  McGraw  and  then,  after  a  silence: 
"Murray  wouldn't  receive  your  ore." 

"Wouldn't  receive  it !"  yelled  Denver,  "why,  what 
was  the  matter  with  it — did  the  sacks  get  broke 
going  down?" 

"No,"  answered  McGraw,  "the  sacks  were  all 
right.  He  said  the  ore  was  no  good." 

"Like  hell !"  scoffed  Denver,  "that  ore  that  I  sent 
him  ?  It  would  run  a  thousand  ounces  to  the  ton !" 

McGraw  wrinkled  his  brows  and  looked  up  at 
the  sun. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "I  guess  I'll  be  going." 

"But — hey,  wait!"  commanded  Denver,  scarcely 
147 


i48  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

believing  his  ears,  "didn't  he  send  me  any  grub,  or 
anything?" 

"Nope,"  answered  McGraw,  "he  wouldn't  give 
me  nawthin'.  He  said  the  ore  was  no  good.  Come, 
boys!"  And  he  threw  off  the  brakes  with  a  bang. 

The  chains  tightened  with  a  jerk,  the  wheelers 
set  their  feet;  then  the  lead  wagon  heaved  forward, 
the  trail-wagon  followed  and  Denver  was  alone 
on  the  road.  His  brain  was  in  a  whirl,  he  had 
lost  all  volition,  even  the  will  to  control  his  wild 
thoughts;  until  suddenly  he  burst  out  in  a  fit  of 
cursing — of  Murray,  of  McGraw,  of  everything. 
McGraw  had  been  a  fool,  he  should  have  demanded 
the  supplies  anyway;  and  Murray  was  just  trying 
to  job  him.  He  knew  he  was  broke  and  had  not 
had  the  ore  assayed,  and  he  was  taking  advantage 
of  the  fact.  He  had  refused  the  ore  in  order  to 
leave  him  flat  and  compel  him  to  abandon  his  mine ; 
and  then  he,  Murray,  would  slip  over  with  his  gun 
man  and  take  possession  himself.  Denver  struck 
his  leg  and  looked  up  and  down  the  road,  and  then 
he  started  off  for  Moroni. 

It  was  sixty  miles,  across  a  scorching  desert  with 
only  two  wells  on  the  road;  but  Denver  arrived  at 
Whitlow's  an  hour  after  sunset,  and  he  was  at 
Desert  Wells  before  dawn.  A  great  fire  seemed 
to  consume  him,  to  drive  him  on,  to  fill  his  body 
with  inexhaustible  strength ;  and,  against  the  advice 
of  the  station  man,  he  started  on  in  the  heat  for 
Moroni.  All  he  wanted  was  a  show-down  with 
Bible-Back  Murray,  to  meet  him  face  to  face ;  and 


BROKE  149 

no  matter  if  he  had  the  whole  county  in  his  pocket 
he  would  tell  him  what  he  thought  of  him.  And 
he  would  make  him  take  that  ore,  according  to  his 
agreement,  or  answer  to  him  personally;  and  then 
he  would  return  to  Final,  where  he  had  left  Drusilla 
crying.  But  he  could  not  face  her  now,  after  all 
his  boasting  and  his  tales  of  fabulous  wealth.  He 
could  never  face  her  again. 

The  sun  rose  up  higher,  the  heat  waves  began 
to  shimmer  and  the  landscape  to  blur  before  his 
eyes;  and  then  an  automobile  came  thundering  up 
behind  him  and  halted  on  the  flat. 

"Get  in!"  called  the  driver  throwing  the  door 
open  hospitably ;  and  in  an  hour's  time  Denver  was 
set  down  in  Moroni,  but  with  the  fever  still  hot 
in  his  brain.  His  first  frenzy  had  left  him,  and 
the  heat  madness  of  the  desert  with  its  insidious 
promptings  to  violence;  but  the  sense  of  injustice 
still  rankled  deep  and  he  headed  for  Murray's  store. 
It  was  a  huge,  brick  building  crowded  from  base 
ment  to  roof  with  groceries  and  general  merchandise. 
Busy  clerks  hustled  about,  waiting  on  Mexicans  and 
Indians  and  slow-moving,  valley  ranchers;  and  as 
Denver  walked  in  there  was  a  man  there  to  meet 
him  and  direct  him  to  any  department.  It  showed 
that  Bible-Back  was  efficient,  at  least. 

"I'd  like  to  see  Mr.  Murray,"  announced  Denver 
shortly  and  the  floor-walker  glanced  at  him  again 
before  he  answered  that  Mr.  Murray  was  out.  It 
was  the  same  at  the  bank,  and  out  at  his  house; 
and  at  last  in  disgust  Denver  went  down  to  the 


i5o  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

station,  where  he  had  been  told  his  ore  was  lying. 
The  stifling  heat  of  the  valley  oppressed  him  like  a 
blanket,  the  sweat  poured  down  his  face  in  tiny 
streams;  and  at  each  evasion  his  anger  mounted 
higher  until  now  he  was  talking  to  himself.  It  was 
evident  that  Murray  was  trying  to  avoid  him — he 
might  even  have  started  back  to  the  mine — but  his 
ore  was  there,  on  a  heavily  timbered  platform, 
where  it  could  be  transferred  from  wagon  to  car 
without  lifting  it  up  and  down.  There  was  other 
ore  there  too,  each  consignment  by  itself,  taken  in 
by  the  store-keeper  in  exchange  for  supplies  and 
held  to  make  up  a  carload.  The  same  perfect  sys 
tem,  efficiency  in  all  things — efficiency  and  a  hun 
dred  per  cent  profit. 

Denver  leapt  up  on  the  platform  and  cut  open  a 
sack,  but  as  he  was  pouring  a  generous  sample  of 
the  ore  into  his  handkerchief  a  man  stepped  out 
of  the  next  warehouse. 

"Hey!"  he  called,  "what  are  you  doing,  over 
there?  You  get  down  and  leave  that  ore  alone!" 

"Go  to  hell!"  returned  Denver,  tying  a  knot  in 
his  handkerchief,  and  the  man  came  over  on  the 
run. 

"Say!"  he  threatened,  "you  put  that  ore  back  or 
you'll  find  yourself  in  serious  trouble." 

"Oh,  I  will,  hey?"  replied  Denver  with  his  most 
tantalizing  smile.  "Whose  ore  do  you  think  this 
is,  anyway?" 

"It  belongs  to  Mr.  Murray,  and  you'd  better  put 
it  back  or  I'll  report  the  matter  at  once." 


BROKE  151 

"Well,  report  it,"  answered  Denver.  "My  name 
is  Denver  Russell  and  I'm  taking  this  up  to  the 
assayer." 

'There's  Mr.  Murray,  now,"  exclaimed  the  man 
and  as  Denver  looked  up  he  saw  a  yellow  automobile 
churning  rapidly  along  through  the  dust.  Murray 
himself  was  at  the  wheel  and,  sitting  beside  him,  was 
another  man  equally  familiar — it  was  Dave,  his 
hired  gun-man. 

"What  are  you  doing  here,  Mr.  Russell?"  de 
manded  Murray  with  asperity  and  Denver  became 
suddenly  calm.  Old  Murray  had  been  hiding  from 
him,  but  they  had  summoned  him  by  telephone,  and 
he  had  brought  along  Dave  for  protection.  But 
that  should  not  keep  him  from  having  his  way 
and  forcing  Murray  to  a  show-down. 

"I  just  came  down  for  a  sample  of  that  ore 
I  sent  you,"  answered  Denver  with  a  sarcastic  grin. 
"McGraw  said  you  claimed  it  was  no  good,  so  I 
thought  I'd  have  it  assayed." 

"Oh,"  observed  Murray  and  for  a  minute  he 
sat  silent  while  Dave  and  Denver  exchanged  glances. 
The  gun-man  was  slight  and  insignificant  looking, 
with  small  features  and  high,  boney  cheeks;  but 
there  was  a  smouldering  hate  in  his  deep-set  eyes 
which  argued  him  in  no  mood  for  a  jest,  so  Denver 
looked  him  over  and  said  nothing. 

"Very  well,"  said  Murray  at  last,  "the  ore  is 
yours.  Go  ahead  and  have  it  assayed.  But  with 
the  price  of  silver  down  to  forty-five  cents  I  doubt 
if  that  stuff  will  pay  smelter  charges.  I'll  ship  it, 


152  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

if  you  say  so,  along  with  this  other,  if  only  to 
make  up  a  carload ;  but  it  will  be  at  your  own  risk 
and  if  the  returns  show  a  deficit,  your  mine  will  be 
liable  for  the  balance." 

"Oh,  that's  the  racket,  eh?"  suggested  Denver. 
"You've  got  your  good  eye  on  my  mine.  Well, 
I'd  just  like  to  tell  you " 

''No,  I  haven't/'  snapped  back  Murray,  his  voice 
harsh  and  strident,  "I  wouldn't  accept  your  mine 
as  a  gift.  Your  silver  is  practically  worthless  and 
there's  no  copper  in  the  district;  as  I  know  all  too 
well,  to  my  sorrow.  I've  lost  twenty  thousand 
dollars  on  better  ground  than  yours  and  ordered  the 
whole  camp  closed  down — that  shows  how  much  I 
want  your  mine." 

He  started  his  engine  and  glided  on  to  the  ware 
house  and  Denver  stood  staring  down  the  road. 
Then  he  raised  his  sample,  tied  up  in  his  handker 
chief,  and  slammed  it  into  the  dirt.  His  mine  was 
valueless  unless  he  had  money,  and  Murray  had 
abandoned  the  district.  More  than  ever  Denver 
realized  how  much  it  had  meant  to  him,  merely  to 
have  that  diamond  drilling  running  and  a  big  man 
like  Murray  behind  it.  It  was  indicative  of  big 
values  and  great  expectations;  but  now,  with 
Murray  out  of  the  running,  the  district  was  ab 
solutely  dead.  There  was  no  longer  the  chance  of 
a  big  copper  strike,  such  as  had  been  rumored  re 
peatedly  for  weeks,  to  bring  on  a  stampede  and  make 
every  claim  in  the  district  worth  thousands  of  dol 
lars  as  a  gamble. 


BROKE 


153 


No,  Final  was  dead;  the  Silver  Treasure  was 
worthless;  and  he,  Denver  Russell,  was  broke.  He 
had  barely  the  price  of  a  square  meal.  He  started 
up -town,  and  turned  back  towards  the  warehouse 
where  Murray  was  wrangling  with  his  hireling; 
then,  cursing  with  helpless  rage,  he  swung  off  down 
the  railroad  track  and  left  his  broken  dreams  be 
hind  him. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  HAND  OF  FATE 

swift  hand  of  fate,  which  had  hurled 
Denver  from  the  heights  into  the  depths  of 
dark  despair,  suddenly  snatched  him  up  out  of  the 
abyss  again  and  whisked  him  back  to  Globe.  When 
he  walked  out  of  Moroni  his  mind  was  a  blank, 
so  overcome  was  his  body  with  heat  and  toil  and 
the  astounding  turns  of  his  fortune;  but  at  the  next 
station  below,  as  he  was  trying  to  steal  a  ride,  a 
man  had  dropped  off  the  train  and  dragged  him, 
willy  nilly,  into  his  Pullman.  It  was  a  mining 
superintendent  who  had  seen  him  in  action  when 
he  was  timbering  the  Last  Chance  stope,  and  in 
spite  of  his  protests  he  paid  his  fare  to  Globe  and 
put  him  to  work  down  a  shaft. 

At  the  bottom  of  this  shaft  was  millions  of  dol 
lars  worth  of  copper  and  level  after  level  of  ex 
pensive  workings;  and  some  great  stirring  of  the 
earth  was  cutting  it  off,  crushing  the  bottle  off  at 
the  neck.  Every  night,  every  shift,  the  swelling 
ground  moved  in,  breaking  stulls  and  square-sets 
like  tooth-picks ;  and  now  with  solid  steel  and  quick- 
setting  concrete  they  were  fighting  for  the  life  of 
the  mine.  It  was  a  dangerous  job,  such  as  few 

154 


THE  HAND  OF  FATE  155 

men  cared  to  tackle;  but  to  Denver  it  was  a  relief, 
a  return  to  his  old  life  after  the  delirium  of  an 
ugly  dream.  Even  yet  he  could  not  trace  the  flaw 
in  his  reasoning  which  had  brought  him  to  earth 
with  such  a  thump;  but  he  knew,  in  general,  that 
his  error  was  the  common  one  of  trying  to  run  a 
mine  on  a  shoestring.  He  had  set  up  in  business 
as  a  mining  magnate  on  eight  hundred  dollars  and 
his  nerve,  and  Bible-Back  Murray  had  busted  him. 

Upon  that  point,  at  least,  Denver  suffered  no 
delusion;  he  knew  that  his  downfall  had  been 
planned  from  the  first  and  that  he  had  bit  like  a 
sucker  at  the  bait.  Murray  had  dropped  a  few 
words  and  spit  on  the  hook  and  Denver  had  shipped 
him  his  ore.  The  rest,  of  course,  was  like  shooting 
fish  in  the  Pan-handle — he  had  refused  to  buy  the 
ore,  leaving  Denver  belly-up,  to  float  away  with 
other  human  debris.  But  there  was  one  thing  yet 
that  he  could  not  understand — why  had  Murray 
closed  down  his  own  mine?  That  was  pulling  it 
pretty  strong,  just  to  freeze  out  a  little  prospector 
and  rob  him  of  a  ton  or  two  of  ore ;  and  yet  Denver 
had  proof  that  it  was  true.  He  had  staked  a  hobo 
who  had  come  over  the  trail  and  the  hobo  had 
told  him  what  he  knew.  The  diamond  drill  camp 
was  closed  down  and  all  the  men  had  left,  but  the 
guard  was  still  herding  the  property.  And  the  hobo 
had  seen  a  girl  at  Final.  She  was  easy  to  look  at 
but  hard  to  talk  to,  so  he  had  passed  and  hit  the 
trail  for  Globe. 

Denver  worked  like  a  demon  with  a  gang  of 


1 56  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

Cousin  Jacks,  opposing  the  swelling  ground  with 
lengths  of  railroad  steel  and  pouring  in  the  con 
crete  behind  them;  but  all  the  time,  by  fits  and 
snatches,  the  old  memories  would  press  in  upon 
him.  He  would  think  of  Mother  Trigedgo  and  her 
glowing  prophecies,  which  had  turned  out  so  won 
derfully  up  to  a  certain  point  and  then  had  as  sud 
denly  gone  wrong;  and  then  he  would  think  of  the 
beautiful  artist  with  whom  he  was  fated  to  fall  in 
love,  and  how,  even  there,  his  destiny  had  worked 
against  him  and  led  him  to  sacrifice  her  love.  For 
how  could  one  hope  to  win  the  love  of  a  woman 
if  he  denied  her  his  friendship  first?  And  yet,  if 
he  accepted  her  as  his  dearest  friend,  he  would 
simply  be  inviting  disaster. 

It  was  all  wrong,  all  foolish — he  dismissed  it 
from  his  mind  as  unworthy  of  a  thinking  man — 
yet  the  words  of  the  prophecy  popped  up  in  his  head 
like  the  memories  of  some  evil  dream.  His  hopes 
of  sudden  riches  were  blasted  forever,  he  had  given 
up  the  thought  of  Drusilla ;  but  the  one  sinister  line 
recurred  to  him  constantly — "at  the  hands  of  your 
dearest  friend."  Never  before  in  his  life  had  he 
been  without  a  pardner,  to  share  his  ramblings  and 
adventures,  but  now  in  that  black  hole  with  the 
steel  rails  coming  down  and  death  on  every  hand, 
superstition  overmastered  him  and  he  rebuffed  the 
hardy  Cornishmen,  refusing  to  take  any  man  for 
his  friend.  Nor  would  he  return  to  Mother 
Trigedgo's  boarding  house,  for  her  prophecies  had 
ruined  his  life. 


THE  HAND   OF  FATE  157 

He  worked  on  for  a  week,  trying  to  set  his  mind 
at  rest,  and  then  a  prompting  came  over  him  sud 
denly  to  go  back  and  see  Drusilla.  If  death  must 
come,  if  some  friend  must  kill  him,  in  whose  hands 
would  he  rather  entrust  his  life  than  in  those  of 
the  woman  he  loved?  Perhaps  it  was  all  false,  like 
the  rest  of  the  prophecy,  the  gold  and  silver 
treasures  and  the  rest;  and  if  he  was  brave  he  might 
win  her  at  last  and  have  her  for  more  than  a  friend. 
But  how  could  he  face  her,  after  all  he  had  said, 
after  boasting  as  he  had  of  his  fortune?  And  he 
had  refused  her  friendship,  when  she  had  en 
deavored  to  comfort  him  and  to  exorcise  this  fear- 
devil  that  pursued  him.  He  went  back  to  work, 
determined  to  forget  it  all,  but  that  evening  he  drew 
his  time.  It  came  to  ninety  dollars,  for  seven  shifts 
and  over-time,  and  they  offered  him  double  to  stay ; 
but  the  desire  to  see  Drusilla  had  taken  possession 
of  him  and  he  turned  his  face  towards  Final. 

It  was  early  in  the  morning  when  he  rode  out 
of  Globe  and  took  the  trail  over  the  divide;  and 
as  he  spurred  up  a  hill  he  overtook  another  horse 
man  who  looked  back  and  grinned  at  him  wisely. 

"Going  to  the  strike?"  he  asked  and  Denver's 
heart  leapt,  though  he  kept  his  quirt  and  spurs 
working. 

"What  strike?"  he  said  and  the  man  burst  into 
a  laugh  as  if  sensing  a  hidden  jest. 

"That's  all  right,"  he  answered,  "I  guess  you're 
hep — they  say  it  runs  forty  per  cent  copper." 

"How'd  you  hear  about  it?"  inquired  Denver, 


i58  SILVER  AND   GOLD 

fishing  cautiously  for  information.  "Where  you 
going — over  to  Final?" 

"You're  whistling,"  returned  the  man,  quite  off 
his  guard.  "Say,  stake  me  a  claim  when  you  get 
there,  if  old  Bible-Back  hasn't  jumped  them  all." 

"Say,  what  are  you  talking  about?"  demanded 
Denver,  suddenly  reining  in  his  horse.  "Is  Murray 
jumping  claims?" 

"Never  mind !"  replied  the  man,  shutting  up  like 
a  clam,  and  Denver  spurred  on  and  left  him. 

There  was  a  strike  then  in  Final,  Old  Murray 
had  tapped  the  vein  and  it  ran  up  to  forty  per  cent 
copper!  That  would  make  the  claim  that  Denver 
had  abandoned  the  week  before  worth  thousands 
and  thousands  of  dollars.  It  would  make  him  rich 
and  Bunker  Hill  rich  and — yes,  it  would  prove  the 
prophecy!  He  had  chosen  the  silver  treasure  and 
the  gold  treasure  had  been  added  to  it — for  the 
copper  ore  which  had  come  in  later  was  almost  the 
color  of  gold.  As  old  Bunk  had  said,  all  these 
prophecies  were  symbolical,  and  he  had  done  Mother 
Trigedgo  an  injustice.  And  there  was  one  claim 
that  he  knew  of — yes,  and  four  others,  too — that 
Murray  would  never  jump.  That  was  his  own 
Silver  Treasure  and  the  four  claims  of  Bunker's 
that  he  had  done  the  annual  work  on  himself. 

Denver's  heart  leapt  again  as  he  raced  his  horse 
across  the  flats  and  led  him  scrambling  with  haste 
up  the  steep  hills,  and  before  the  sun  was  three 
hours  high  he  had  plunged  into  the  box  canyon  of 
Queen  Creek.  Here  the  trail  wound  in  and  out, 


THE  HAND  OF  FATE  159 

crossing  and  recrossmg  the  shrunken  stream  and 
mounting  with  painful  zigzags  over  the  points ;  but 
he  rioted  through  it  all,  splashing  the  water  out 
of  the  crossings  as  he  hurried  to  claim  his  own. 
The  box  canyon  grew  deeper,  the  walls  more 
precipitous,  the  creek  bottom  more  dark  and 
cavernous;  until  at  last  it  opened  out  into  broad 
flats  and  boulder  patches,  thickly  covered  with 
alders  and  ash  trees.  And  then  as  he  swung 
around  the  final,  rocky  point  he  saw  his  own  claim 
in  the  distance.  It  was  nothing  but  a  hole  in  the  side 
of  the  rocky  hillside,  a  slide  of  gray  waste  down  the 
slope ;  but  to  him  it  was  a  beacon  to  light  his  home 
coming,  a  proof  that  some  dreams  do  come  true. 
He  galloped  down  the  trail  where  Drusilla  and  he 
had  loitered  and  let  out  an  exultant  whoop. 

But  as  Denver  came  opposite  his  mine  a  sinister 
thing  happened — a  head  rose  up  against  the  black 
darkness  of  the  tunnel  and  a  man  looked  stealthily 
out.  Then  he  drew  back  his  head  like  some  snake 
in  a  hole  and  Denver  stopped  and  stared.  A  low 
wall  of  rocks  had  been  built  across  the  cut  and 
the  man  was  crouching  behind  it — Denver  jogged 
down  and  turned  up  the  trail.  A  glimpse  at  Final 
showed  the  streets  full  of  automobiles  and  a  huddle 
of  men  by  the  store  door,  and  as  he  rode  up  to 
wards  his  mine  Bunker  Hill  came  running  out  and 
beckoned  him  frantically  back. 

"Come  back  here!"  he  hollered  and  Denver 
turned  and  looked  at  him  but  kept  on  up  the  narrow 
trail.  The  mine  was  his,  without  a  doubt,  both  by 


160  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

purchase  and  by  assessment  work  done  J  and  he  had 
no  fear  of  dispossession  by  a  jumper  who  was  so 
obviously  in  the  wrong. 

"Hello,  there!"  he  hailed,  reining  in  before  the 
tunnel;  and  after  a  minute  the  man  rose  up  with 
his  pistol  poised  over  his  shoulder.  It  was  Dave, 
Murray's  gun-man,  and  at  sight  of  his  enemy 
Denver  was  swept  with  a  gust  of  passion.  From 
the  moment  he  had  first  met  him,  this  narrow-eyed, 
sneering  bad-man  had  roused  all  the  hate  that  was 
in  him;  but  now  it  had  gone  beyond  instinct.  He 
found  him  in  adverse  possession  of  his  property 
and  with  a  gun  raised  ready  to  shoot. 

"What  are  you  doing  here?"  demanded  Denver 
insolently  but  Chatwourth  did  not  move.  He  stood 
like  a  statue,  his  gun  balanced  in  the  air,  a  thin, 
evil  smile  on  his  lips,  and  Denver  gave  way  to  his 
fury.  "You  get  out  of  there!"  he  ordered.  "Get 
off  my  property !  Get  off  or  I'll  put  you  off !" 

Chatwourth  twirled  his  gun  in  a  contemptuous  ges 
ture;  and  then,  like  a  flash,  he  was  shooting.  He 
threw  his  shots  low,  between  the  legs  of  the  horse, 
which  reared  and  whirled  in  a  panic;  and  with  the 
bang  of  the  heavy  gun  in  his  ears,  Denver  found 
himself  headed  down  the  trail.  A  high  derisive  yell, 
a  whoop  of  hectoring  laughter,  followed  after  him 
as  he  galloped  into  the  open;  and  he  was  fighting 
his  horse  in  a  cloud  of  dust  when  Bunker  Hill  and 
the  crowd  came  up. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  MAN-KILLER 

he  hit  ye?"  yelled  Bunker  when  Denver 
had  conquered  his  pitching  horse  and  set 
him  back  on  his  haunches.  "Hell's  bells,  boy,  I  told 
you  to  stay  out  of  there !" 

"Well,  you  lend  me  a  gun!"  shouted  Denver  in 
a  fury,  "and  I'll  go  back  and  shoot  it  out  with  that 
dastard!  It's  him  or  me — that's  all!" 

"Here's  a  gun,  pardner,"  volunteered  a  long- 
bearded  prospector  handing  up  a  six-shooter  with 
tremulous  eagerness;  but  Bunker  Hill  struck  the 
long  pistol  away  and  took  Denver's  horse  by  the  bit. 

"Not  by  a  jugful,  old-timer,"  he  said  to  the  pros 
pector.  "Do  you  want  to  get  the  kid  killed?  Come 
on  back  to  the  meeting  and  we'll  frame  up  some 
thing  on  these  jumpers  that'll  make  'em  hunt  their 
holes.  But  this  boy  here  is  my  friend,  under 
stand?" 

He  held  the  prancing  horse,  which  had  been  spat 
tered  with  glancing  lead,  until  Denver  swung  down 
out  of  the  saddle;  and  then,  while  the  crowd  fol 
lowed  along  at  their  heels,  he  led  the  way  back 
to  the  store. 

161 


162  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

"What's  going  on  here?"  demanded  Denver,  look 
ing  about  at  the  automobile  and  the  men  who  had 
popped  up  like  magic,  "has  Murray  made  a  strike?" 

"Danged  right,"  answered  Bunker,  "he  made  a 
strike  last  month — and  now  he  has  jumped  all  our 
claims.  Or  at  least,  it's  his  men,  because  Dave 
there's  the  leader;  but  Murray  claims  they're  work 
ing  for  themselves.  He's  over  at  his  camp  with  a 
big  gang  of  miners,  driving  a  tunnel  in  to  tap  the 
deposit — it  run  forty  per  cent  pure  copper." 

"Well,  we're  made  then,"  exulted  Denver,  "if  we 
can  get  back  our  claims.  Come  on,  let's  run  these 
jumpers  off!" 

"Yes,  that's  what  7  said,  a  few  hours  ago," 
grumbled  Bunker  biting  savagely  at  his  mustache, 
"and  I  never  was  so  hacked  in  my  life.  We  went 
up  to  this  Dave  and  all  pulled  our  guns  and  ordered 
him  out  of  the  district,  and  I'm  a  dadburned  Mexi 
can  if  he  didn't  pull  his  gun  and  run  the  whole 
bunch  of  us  away.  He's  nervy,  there's  no  use  talk 
ing;  and  I  promised  Mrs.  Hill  that  I'd  keep  out  of 
these  shooting  affrays.  By  grab,  it  was  downright 
disgraceful !" 

"That's  all  right,"  returned  Denver,  "he  don't 
look  bad  to  me.  You  just  lend  me  a  gun  and " 

"He'll  kill  ye!"  warned  Bunker,  "I  know  by  his 
eye.  He's  a  killer  if  ever  there  was  one.  So  don't 
go  up  against  him  unless  you  mean  business,  be 
cause  you  can't  run  no  blazer  on  him!" 

"Well — oh  hell,  then,"  burst  out  Denver,  "what's 
the  use  of  getting  killed !  Isn't  there  anything  else- 


THE  MAN-KILLER  163 

we  can  do?  I  don't  need  to  eject  him  because  he's 
got  no  title,  anyway.  How  about  these  leadpencil 
fellows  that  haven't  done  their  work  for  years?" 

"That's  it,"  explained  Bunker,  "we  were  having 
a  meeting  when  we  seen  you  horn  in  on  Dave.  These 
gentlemen  are  all  men  that  have  held  their  ground 
for  years  and  it  don't  seem  right  they  should  lose 
it.  At  the  same  time  it'll  take  something  more  than 
a  slap  on  the  wrist  to  make  these  blasted  jumpers 
let  go.  They've  staked  all  the  good  claims  and 
are  up  doing  the  work  on  them  and  the  question 
is — what  can  we  do?" 

'Til  tell  you  what  I'll  do,"  spoke  up  the  old 
prospector  vindictively  as  the  crowd  surged  into  the 
store,  'Til  get  up  on  the  Leap  and  shoot  down  on 
them  jumpers  until  I  chase  the  last  one  of  'em  off. 
They  can't  run  no  rannikaboo  en  me!" 

He  wagged  his  long  beard  and  spat  impressively 
but  nobody  paid  any  attention  to  him.  They 
realized  at  last  that  they  were  up  against  gun- 
fighters — men  picked  for  quick  shooting  and  iron 
nerves  and  working  under  the  orders  of  one  man. 
That  man  was  Dave  Chatwourth,  nominally  dis 
missed  by  Murray  but  undoubtedly  still  in  his  pay, 
and  until  they  could  devise  some  plan  to  eliminate 
him  it  was  useless  to  talk  of  violence.  So  they 
resumed  their  meeting  and,  as  Denver  owned  a 
claim,  he  found  himself  included  in  the  membership. 
It  was  a  belated  revival  of  the  old-time  Miners' 
Meeting,  at  one  time  the  supreme  law  in  Western 


164  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

mining  camps;  and  Bunker  Hill,  as  Recorder  of  the 
district,  presided  from  his  perch  on  the  counter. 

From  his  seat  in  the  corner  Denver  listened 
apathetically  as  the  miners  argued  and  wrangled, 
and  the  longer  they  talked  the  more  it  became  ap 
parent  that  nothing  was  going  to  be  done.  The 
encounter  with  Dave  had  cooled  their  courage,  and 
more  and  more  the  sentiment  began  to  lean  towards 
an  appeal  to  the  power  of  the  law.  But  then  it 
came  out  that  the  law  was  an  instrument  which 
might  operate  as  a  two-edged  sword;  for  posses 
sion,  and  diligence  in  working  the  claim,  are  the 
two  big  points  in  mining  law  and  just  at  that 
moment  a  legal  decision  would  be  all  in  favor  of  the 
jumpers.  And  if  Murray  was  behind  them,  as  all 
the  circumstances  seemed  to  indicate,  he  would  hire 
the  most  expensive  lawyers  in  the  country  and  fight 
the  case  to  a  finish.  No,  if  anything  was  to  be  done 
they  must  find  out  some  other  way,  or  they  would 
be  playing  right  into  his  hands. 

"I'll  tell  you,"  proposed  Bunker  as  the  talk  swung 
back  to  action,  "let's  go  back  unarmed  and  talk 
to  Dave  again  and  find  out  what  he  thinks  he's  do 
ing.  He  can't  hold  Denver's  claim,  and  those  claims 
of  mine,  because  the  work  has  just  been  done;  and 
then,  if  we  can  talk  him  into  vacating  our  ground, 
maybe  these  other  jaspers  will  quit." 

"I'll  go  you!"  said  Denver  rising  up  impatiently, 
"and  if  he  won't  vacate  my  claim  I'll  try  some  other 
means  and  see  if  we  can't  persuade  him." 

"That's  the  talk!"  quavered  the  old  prospector 


THE  MAN-KILLER  165 

slapping  him  heartily  on  the  back.  "Lord  love  you, 
boy,  if  I  was  your  age  I'd  be  right  up  in  front  there, 
shooting.  Why,  up  in  the  Bradshaws  in  Seventy- 
three " 

"Never  mind  what  you'd  do  if  you  had  the 
nerve,"  broke  in  Bunker  Hill  sarcastically.  "Just 
because  you've  got  a  claim  that  you'd  like  to  get 
back  is  no  reason  for  stirring  up  trouble.  No,  I'm 
willing  to  go  ahead  and  do  all  the  talking;  but  I 
want  you  to  understand — this  is  peaceable/' 

"Well,  all  right,"  agreed  the  miners  and,  laying 
aside  their  pistols,  they  started  up  the  street  for 
Denver's  mine ;  but  as  Bunker  led  off  a  voice  called 
from  the  porch  and  his  wife  came  hurrying  after 
him.  Behind  her  followed  Drusilla,  reluctantly  at 
first;  but  as  her  father  kept  on,  despite  the  entreaties 
of  her  mother,  she  ran  up  and  caught  him  by  the 
sleeve. 

"No,  don't  go,  father !"  she  cried  appealingly  and 
as  Bunker  replied  with  an  evasive  laugh  she  turned 
her  anger  upon  Denver. 

"Why  don't  you  get  back  your  own  mine?"  she 
demanded,  "instead  of  dragging  my  father  into  it?" 

"Never  mind,  now,"  protested  Bunker,  "we  ain't 
going  to  have  no  trouble — we  just  want  to  have  a 
friendly  talk.  This  has  nothing  to  do  with  Denver 
or  his  mine — all  we  want  is  a  few  words  with 
Dave." 

"He'll  shoot  you !"  she  insisted.  "Oh,  I  just  know 
something  will  happen.  Well,  all  right,  then;  I'm 
going  along  too!" 


1 66  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

"Why,  sure/*  smiled  Bunker,  "always  glad  to 
have  company — but  you'd  better  stay  back  with 
your  mother." 

"No,  I'm  going  to  stay  right  here,"  she  answered 
stubbornly,  giving  Denver  a  hateful  glance,  "because 
I  don't  believe  a  word  you  say." 

"Ve-ry  well,  my  dear,"  responded  Bunker  indul 
gently  and  took  her  under  his  arm. 

"I'm  going  ahead !"  she  burst  out  quickly  as  they 
came  to  the  turn  in  the  trail;  and  before  he  could 
stop  her  she  slipped  out  of  his  embrace  and  went 
running  to  the  entrance  of  the  cut.  But  there  she 
halted  suddenly  and  when  they  came  up  they  found 
her  pale  and  trembling.  "Oh,  go  back !"  she  gasped. 
"He's  in  there — he'll  shoot  you.  I  know  something 
awful  will  happen!" 

"You'd  better  go  back,  now,"  suggested  her 
father  quietly,  and  then  he  turned  to  the  barrier. 
"Don't  start  anything,  Dave — we've  come  peaceable, 
this  time;  so  come  out  and  let's  have  a  talk." 

There  was  a  long,  tense  silence  and  then  the  muz 
zle  of  a  gun  stirred  uneasily  and  revealed  the  hiding 
place  of  Dave.  He  was  crouched  behind  the  rocks 
which  he  had  piled  up  across  the  cut  where  it  en 
tered  the  slope  of  the  hill,  and  his  long  barrelled 
six-shooter  was  thrust  out  through  a  crack  just 
wide  enough  to  serve  for  a  loop-hole. 

"Don't  want  to  talk,"  he  answered  at  last.  "So 
go  on,  now;  get  off  of  my  property." 

"Well,  now  listen,"  began  Bunker  shaking  off 
Drusilla's  grasp,  "we  acknowledge  we  made  a  slight 


THE  MAN-KILLER  167 

mistake.  We  tried  to  run  a  whizzer  and  you  called 
us  good  and  plenty — all  right  then,  now  let's  have 
a  talk.  If  you  can  show  title  to  this  ground  you're 
holding,  we'll  leave  you  in  peaceful  possession ;  and 
if  you  can't,  you're  just  wasting  your  time  and 
talents,  because  there's  plenty  more  claims  that  ain't 
took.  It's  a  cinch  you  can't  hide  in  that  hole  for 
ever,  so  you  might  as  well  have  it  out  now." 

"Well  what  d'ye  want?"  snarled  Chatwourth 
irritably.  "By  cripes,  I'll  kill  the  first  man  that 
comes  a  step  nearer.  I  won't  stand  no  monkey- 
business  from  nobody." 

"Oh,  sure,  sure,"  soothed  Bunker,  "we  know 
you're  the  goods — nerviest  gun-man,  I  believe,  I 
ever  saw.  But  here's  the  proposition,  you  ain't  here 
for  your  health,  you  must  figure  on  making  a  win 
ning  somehow.  Well,  if  your  title's  good  you've 
got  a  good  mine,  but  if  it  ain't  you're  out  of  luck. 
Now  I  sold  this  claim  for  five  hundred  dollars  to 
Mr.  Russell,  that  you  met  a  while  ago ;  and  we  think 
it  belongs  to  him  yet.  I  gave  him  a  clear  title  and 
he's  done  his  work,  so " 

"Your  title  was  no  good!"  contradicted  Chat 
wourth  from  his  rock  pile,  "you  hadn't  done  your 
work  for  years.  I've  located  this  claim  and  the 
man  don't  live " 

"That's  all  right!"  spoke  up  Denver,  "but  I 
located  it  before  you  did.  I  didn't  buy  this  claim. 
I  paid  for  a  quit-claim  and  then  relocated  it  myself 
—and  my  papers  are  on  record  in  Moroni." 


i68  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

"Who  called  you  in  on  this?"  burst  out  Chat- 
wourth  abusively,  rising  up  with  his  gun  poised  to 
shoot.  "Now  you  git,  dam'  your  heart,  and  if  you 
say  another  word " 

"You  don't  dare  to  shoot  me!"  answered  Denver 
in  a  passion,  standing  firm  as  the  crowd  surged 
back.  "I'm  unarmed,  and  you  don't  dare  to  shoot 
me!" 

"Here,  here !"  exclaimed  Bunker  grabbing  hastily 
at  Denver's  arm  but  Denver  struck  him  roughly 
aside. 

"Never  mind,  now,"  he  said,  "just  get  those  folks 
away — I  don't  want  any  of  my  friends  to  get  hurt. 
But  I'll  tell  you  right  now,  either  I  throw  that  man 
out  or  he'll  have  to  shoot  me  down  in  cold  blood." 

He  backed  away  panting  and  the  miners  ran  for 
cover,  but  Bunker  Hill- held  his  ground. 

"No,  now  listen,  Denver,"  he  admonished  gently, 
"you  don't  know  what  you're  doing.  This  man  will 
kill  you,  as  sure  as  hell." 

"He  will  not !"  cried  Denver  grabbing  up  a  heavy 
stone  and  advancing  on  the  barricade,  "I'm  destined 
to  be  killed  by  my  dearest  friend — that's  what  old 
Mother  Trigedgo  told  me!  But  this  bastard  ain't 
my  friend  and  never  was " 

He  paused,  for  Chatwourth's  gun  came  down  and 
pointed  straight  at  his  heart. 

"Stand  back!"  he  shrilled  and  Denver  leapt  for 
ward,  hurling  the  rock  with  all  his  strength.  Then 
he  plunged  through  the  smoke,  swinging  his  arms 


THE  MAN-KILLER  169 

out  to  clutch,  and  as  he  crashed  through  the  barrier 
he  stumbled  over  something  that  he  turned  back  and 
pounced  on  like  a  cat.  It  was  Chatwourth,  but  his 
body  was  limp  and  senseless — the  stone  had  struck 
him  in  the  head. 


CHAPTER  XX 

JUMPERS  AND  TENORS 

THEY  led  Denver  away  as  if  he  were  a  child, 
for  the  revulsion  from  his  anger  had  left 
him  weak;  but  Chatwourth,  the  killer,  was  carried 
back  to  town  with  his  head  lolling  forward  like  a 
dead  man's.  The  smash  of  the  stone  had  caught 
him  full  on  the  forehead,  which  sloped  back  like 
the  skull  of  a  panther;  and  the  blood,  oozing  down 
from  his  lacerated  scalp,  made  him  look  more 
murderous  than  ever.  But  his  hard,  fighting  jaw 
was  hanging  slack  now  and  his  dangerous  eyes  were 
closed ;  and  the  miners,  while  they  carried  him  with 
a  proper  show  of  solicitude,  chuckled  and  muttered 
among  themselves.  In  a  way  which  was  nothing 
short  of  miraculous  Denver  Russell  had  walked  in 
on  Murray's  boss  jumper  and  knocked  him  on  the 
head  with  a  rock — and  the  shot  which  Chatwourth 
had  fired  in  return  had  never  so  much  as  touched 
him. 

They  put  Chatwourth  in  an  automobile  and  sent 
him  over  to  Murray's  camp;  and  then  with  broad 
smiles  they  gathered  about  Denver  and  took  turns 
in  slapping  him  on  the  back.  He  was  a  wonder, 
a  terror,  a  proper  fighting  fool,  the  kind  that  would 

170 


JUMPERS  AND  TENORS  171 

charge  into  hell  itself  with  nothing  but  a  bucket  of 
water;  and  would  he  mind,  when  he  felt  a  little 
stronger,  just  walking  with  them  to  their  claims? 
Just  a  little,  friendly  jaunt,  as  one  friend  with 
another;  but  if  Murray's  hired  jumpers  saw  him 
coming  up  the  trail  that  was  all  that  would  be  re 
quired.  They  would  go,  and  be  quick  about  it,  for 
they  had  been  watching  from  afar  and  had  seen 
what  happened  to  Dave — but  Denver  brushed  them 
aside  and  went  up  to  his  cave  where  he  could  be 
by  himself  and  think. 

If  he  had  ever  doubted  the  virtue  of  Mother 
Trigedgo's  prophecy  he  put  the  unworthy  thought 
behind  him.  He  knew  it  now,  knew  it  absolutely — 
every  word  of  the  prophecy  was  true.  He  had 
staked  his  life  to  prove  the  blackest  line  of  it,  and 
Chatwourth's  bullet  had  been  turned  aside.  No,  the 
silver  treasure  was  his,  and  the  golden  treasure  also, 
and  no  man  but  his  best  friend  could  kill  him ;  but 
the  beautiful  artist  with  whom  he  had  fallen  in 
love — would  she  now  confer  her  hand  upon  an 
other?  He  had  come  back  to  Final  to  set  the 
prophecy  at  defiance  and  ask  her  to  be  his  dearest 
friend;  but  now,  well,  perhaps  it  would  be  just  as 
well  to  stick  to  the  letter  of  his  horoscope.  "Be 
ware  how  you  reveal  your  affections,"  it  said — and 
he  had  been  rushing  back  to  tell  her !  And  besides, 
she  had  met  his  advances  despite  fully,  and  prac 
tically  called  him  a  coward.  Denver  brushed  off  the 
dust  from  his  shiny  phonograph  and  put  on  the 
"Anvil  Chorus," 


1 72  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

The  next  morning,  early,  he  was  up  at  his  mine, 
with  Chatwourth's  gun  slung  low  on  his  leg;  and 
while  he  remained  there,  to  defend  it  against  all 
comers,  he  held  an  impromptu  reception.  There 
was  a  rush  of  miners,  to  look  at  the  mine  and  in 
spect  the  specimens  of  copper;  and  then  shoe-string 
promoters  began  to  arrive,  with  proposals  to  stock 
the  property.  The  Professor  came  up,  his  eyes 
staring  and  resentful;  and  old  Bunker,  overflowing 
with  good  humor;  and  at  last,  when  nobody  else 
was  there,  Drusilla  walked  by  on  the  trail.  She 
glanced  up  at  him  hopefully;  then,  finding  no 
response,  she  heaved  a  great  sigh  and  turned  up 
his  path  to  have  it  over  and  done  with. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "I  suppose  you  despise  me,  but 
I'm  sorry — that's  all  I  can  say.  And  now  that 
I  know  all  about  your  horoscope  I  don't  blame  you 
for  treating  me  so  rudely.  That  is,  I  don't  blame 
you  so  much.  But  don't  you  think,  Denver,  when 
you  went  away  and  left  me,  you  might  have  written 
back?  We'd  always  been  such  friends." 

She  checked  herself  at  the  word,  then  smiled 
a  sad  smile  and  waited  to  hear  what  he  would  say. 
And  Denver,  in  turn,  checked  what  was  on  his  lips 
and  responded  with  a  solemn  nod.  It  had  come  to 
him  suddenly  to  rise  up  and  clasp  her  hands  and 
whisper  that  he'd  take  a  chance  on  it,  yet — that 
is,  if  they  could  still  be  friends  — but  the  significance 
of  the  prophecy  had  been  proved  only  yesterday, 
and  miracles  can  happen  both  ways.  The  same  fate, 
the  same  destiny,  which  had  fended  off  the  bullet 


JUMPERS  AND  TENORS  173 

when  Chatwourth  had  aimed  at  his  heart,  might 
turn  the  merest  accident  to  the  opposite  purpose  and 
make  Drusilla  his  unwilling  slayer. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  apropos  of  nothing,  "you  see  now 
how  I'm  fixed.  Don't  dare  to  have  any  friends." 

"No,  but  Denver,"  she  pouted,  "you  might  say 
you  were  sorry — that's  different  from  being  friends. 
But  after  we'd  been  so — oh,  do  you  believe  all  that? 
Do  you  believe  you'll  be  killed  by  your  dearest 
friend,  and  that  nobody  else  can  harm  you?  Be 
cause  that,  you  know,  is  just  superstition;  it's  just 
like  the  ancient  Greeks  when  they  consulted  the 
oracle,  and  the  Indians,  and  Italians  and  such  peo 
ple.  But  educated  people " 

"What's  the  matter  with  the  Greeks?"  spoke  up 
Denver  contentiously.  "Do  you  mean  to  say  they 
were  ignorant?  Well,  I  talked  with  an  old-timer — 
he  was  a  Professor  in  some  university — and  he  said 
it  would  take  us  a  thousand  years  before  we  even 
caught  up  with  them.  Do  you  think  that  I'm  super 
stitious?  Well,  listen  to  this,  now;  here's  one  that 
he  told  me,  and  it  comes  from  a  famous  Greek  play. 
There  was  a  woman  back  in  Greece  that  was  like 
Mother  Trigedgo,  and  she  prophesied,  before  a  man 
was  born,  that  he'd  kill  his  own  father  and  marry 
his  own  mother.  What  do  you  think  of  that,  now  ? 
His  father  was  a  king  and  didn't  want  to  kill  him, 
so  when  he  was  born  he  pierced  his  feet  and  put 
him  out  on  a  cliff  to  die.  But  a  shepherd  came 
along  and  found  this  baby  and  named  him  Edipus, 
which  means  swelled  feet;  and  when  the  kid  grew 


174  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

up  he  was  walking  along  a  narrow  pass  when  he 
met  his  father  in  disguise.  They  got  into  a  quarrel 
over  who  should  turn  out  and  Epidus  killed  his 
father.  Then  he  went  on  to  the  city  where  his 
mother  was  queen  and  there  was  a  big  bird,  the 
Sphinx,  that  used  to  come  there  regular  and  ask 
those  folks  a  riddle :  What  is  it  that  is  four-footed, 
three- footed  and  two-footed?  And  every  time 
when  they  failed  to  give  the  answer  the  Sphinx 
would  take  one  of  them  to  eat.  Well,  the  queen 
had  said  that  whoever  guessed  that  riddle  could 
be  king  and  have  her  for  his  wife,  and  Epidus 
guessed  the  answer.  It's  a  man,  you  see,  that  crawls 
when  he  is  a  baby,  stands  on  two  legs  when  he's 
grown  and  walks  with  a  cane  when  he  is  old. 
Epidus  married  the  queen,  but  when  he  found  out 
what  he'd  done  he  went  mad  and  put  his  own  eyes 
out.  But  don't  you  see  he  couldn't  escape  it." 

"No,  but  listen,"  she  smiled,  "that  was  just  a 
legend,  and  the  Greeks  made  it  into  a  play.  It  was 
just  like  the  German  stories  of  Thor  and  the  Norse 
gods  that  Wagner  used  in  his  operas.  They're  won 
derful,  and  all  that,  but  folks  don't  take  them  seri 
ously.  They're  just — why,  they're  fairy  tales." 

"Well,  all  right,"  grumbled  Denver,  "I  expect 
you  think  I  am  crazy,  but  what  about  Mother 
Trigedgo?  Didn't  she  send  me  over  here  to  find 
this  mine?  And  wasn't  it  right  where  she  told  me? 
Dosen't  it  lie  within  the  shadow  of  a  place  of  death, 
and  wasn't  the  gold  added  to  it?" 


JUMPERS  AND  TENORS  175 

"Why,  no!"  exclaimed  Brasilia,  "did  you  find  the 
gold,  too  ?  I  thought " 

"That  referred  to  the  copper,"  answered  Denver 
soberly.  "It  was  your  father  that  gave  me  the  tip. 
When  I  first  came  over  here  I  was  inquiring  for 
gold,  because  I  knew  I  had  to  make  a  choice;  but 
he  pointed  out  to  me  that  these  horoscopes  are  sym 
bolical  and  that  the  golden  treasure  might  be  copper. 
It  looks  a  whole  lot  like  gold,  you  know;  and  now 
just  look  what  happened !  I  chose  the  silver,  see — 
I  chose  the  right  treasure — and  when  I  drifted  in, 
this  vein  of  chalcopy rites  appeared  and  was  added 
to  the  silver.  It  followed  along  in  the  hanging  wall 
until  the  whole  formation  dipped  and  then " 

"Oh,  I  don't  care  about  that !"  burst  out  Drusilla 
fretfully,  "it's  easy  to  explain  anything,  afterwards ! 
But  of  course  if  you  think  more  of  gold  and  silver 
than  you  do  of  having  me  for  a  friend " 

"But  I  don't,"  interposed  Denver,  gently  taking 
her  hand.  "Sit  down  here  and  let's  talk  this  over." 

"Well,"  sighed  Drusilla  and  then,  winking  back 
the  tears,  she  sank  down  in  the  shade  beside  him. 

"I  don't  want  you  to  think,"  went  on  Denver 
tenderly,  without  weighing  very  carefully  what  he 
said,  "I  don't  want  you  to  think  I  don't  like  you, 
because — say,  if  you'll  kiss  me,  I'll  take  a  chance." 

"Oh — would  you  ?"  she  beamed  her  eyes  big  with 
wonder,  "would  you  take  a  chance  on  my  killing 
you?" 

"If  it  struck  me  dead !"  declared  Denver  gallantly, 
but  she  did  not  yield  the  kiss. 


1 76  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

"No,"  she  said,  "I  don't  believe  in  kisses — have 
you  kissed  other  girls  before?  And  besides,  I  just 
wanted  to  be  friends  again,  the  way  we  were 
before." 

"Well,  I  guess  you  don't  want  to  be  friends  very 
bad,"  observed  Denver  with  a  disgruntled  smile. 
"When  do  you  expect  to  start  for  the  East?" 

"Pretty  soon,"  she  answered.  "Will  you  be 
sorry?" 

Denver  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  began  snap 
ping  pebbles  at  an  ant. 

"Sure,"  he  said  and  she  drew  away  from  him. 

"You  won't!"  she  burst  out  resentfully. 

"Yes,  I'll  be  sorry,"  he  repeated,  "but  it  won't 
make  much  difference — I  don't  expect  to  last  very 
long.  I've  always  had  a  pardner,  some  feller  fo 
ramble  around  with  and  borrow  all  my  money  when 
he  was  broke,  and  I'm  getting  awful  lonesome  with 
out  one.  Sooner  or  later,  I  reckon,  I'll  pick  up 
another  one  and  the  crazy  danged  fool  will  kill  me. 
Drop  a  timber  hook  on  my  head  or  some  stunt  like 
that — I  wish  I'd  never  seen  old  Mother  Trigedgo ! 
What  you  don't  know  never  hurt  anyone ;  but  now, 
by  grab,  I'm  afraid  of  every  man  I  throw  in  with. 
For  the  time  being,  at  least,  he's  the  best  friend 
I've  got ;  and — oh,  what's  the  use,  anyway,  it'll  get 
you,  sooner  or  later — I  might  as  well  go  out  like 
a  sport." 

"You  were  awful  brave,"  she  murmured  admir 
ingly,  "when  you  fought  with  Mr.  Chatwourth 


JUMPERS  AND  TENORS  177 

yesterday.  Weren't  you  honestly  afraid  he  would 
kill  you?" 

"No,  I  wasn't !"  declared  Denver.  "He  didn't  look 
bad  to  me — don't  now  and  never  did — and  as  long 
as  the  cards  are  coming  my  way  I  don't  let  no 
alleged  bad-man  run  it  over  me.  Here's  the  gun 
that  I  took  away  from  him." 

"Yes,  I  noticed  it,"  she  said.  "But  when  he 
comes  back  for  it  are  you  going  to  give  it  up?" 

"Sure,"  answered  Denver,  "just  show  me  a  rock- 
pile  and  I'll  run  him  out  of  town  like  a  rabbit." 

"And  you  fought  him  with  rocks!"  she  said  half 
to  herself,  "I  wish  I  were  as  brave  as  that." 

"Well,  it's  all  in  your  mind,"  expounded  Denver. 
"Some  people  are  afraid  to  crack  an  egg  but  I'm 
game  to  try  anything  once." 

"So  am  I !"  she  defended  looking  him  boldly  in 
the  eye  but  he  shook  his  head  and  smiled. 

"Nope,"  he  said,  "you  don't  believe  in  kisses.  But 
I  was  willing  to  take  a  chance  on  getting  killed." 

"No,"  she  said,  "a  kiss  means  more  than  that. 
It  means — well,  it  means  that  you  love  someone.'' 

"It  means  what  you  want  it  to  mean,"  he  cor 
rected.  "Don't  you  have  to  kiss  the  tenor  in  these 
operas?" 

"Well  that's  different,"  she  responded  blushing. 
"That's  why  I'm  afraid  I'll  never  succeed!  Of 
course  we're  taught  to  do  stage  kisses,  but  somehow 
I  can't  bring  myself  to  it.  But  oh,  I  do  so  love 
to  sing!  I  like  it  all,  except  just  that  part  of  it — 
and  the  singers  are  not  all  nice  men.  Some  of  them 


178  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

just  make  a  business  of  flattering  pretty  girls  and 
offering  to  get  them  a  hearing.  That's  why  some 
girls  succeed  and  get  such  big  parts — they  have  an 
understanding  with  someone  that  can  use  his  in 
fluence  with  the  directors.  They  don't  take  the  best 
singers  and  actors  at  all,  it's  all  done  by  intrigue 
and  money.  Oh,  I  wish  some  real  nice  man  would 
start  a  new  company  and  invite  me  to  take  a  part. 
I've  heard  one  was  being  organized — a  traveling 
company  that  will  sing  in  all  the  big  cities — and 
I've  written  to  my  music  teacher  about  it.  But  if 
I  don't  get  some  position  my  money  will  all  be  gone 
in  no  time  and  then — well,  what  will  I  do?" 

She  looked  at  him  bravely  and  he  saw  in  her  eyes 
the  calmness  that  goes  with  desperation. 

"You  write  to  me,"  he  said,  "and  I'll  send  you  the 
last  dollar  I've  got." 

"No,  I  didn't  mean  that,"  she  replied,  "I  can 
earn  my  living  at  something.  But  father  and  mother 
have  spent  all  their  money  in  training  me  to  be  a 
great  singer  and  I  just  can't  bear  to  disappoint  them. 
It's  cost  ten  thousand  dollars  to  bring  me  where 
I  am,  and  this  five  hundred  dollars  is  nothing.  Why 
the  great  vocal  teachers,  who  can  use  their  influence 
to  get  their  pupils  a  hearing,  charge  ten  dollars  for 
a  half-hour  lesson;  and  if  I  don't  go  to  them  then 
every  door  is  closed — unless  I'm  willing  to  pay  the 
price." 

"Well,  I  take  it  all  back  then,"  spoke  up  Denver 
at  last,  "there  are  different  kinds  of  bravery.  But 
you  go  on  back  there  and  do  your  best  and  maybe 


JUMPERS  AND  TENORS  179 

we  can  make  a  raise.  I'll  just  take  my  gun  and 
go  up  to  your  father's  claims  and  jump  out  that 
bunch  of  bad-men " 

"No !  No,  Denver !"  she  broke  in  very  earnestly, 
"I  don't  want  you  to  do  that  again.  I  heard  last 
night  that  Dave  said  he  would  get  you — and  if  he 
did,  why  then  I'd  be  to  blame.  You'd  be  doing  it 
for  me,  and  if  one  of  those  men  killed  you — well, 
it  would  be  just  the  same  as  me." 

"Nope !"  denied  Denver,  "there  was  no  figure  of 
speech  about  that.  It  said:  'at  the  hands  of  your 
dearest  friend.'  These  jumpers  ain't  my  friends 
and  never  was — come  on,  let's  take  a  chance.  I'll 
run  'em  off  the  claims  if  your  father  will  give  you 
half  of  'em,  and  then  you  can  turn  around  and  sell 
out  for  cash  and  go  back  to  New  York  like  a  queen. 
You  stand  off  the  tenors  and  I'll  stand  off  the 
jumpers;  and  then,  perhaps — but  we  won't  talk 
about  that  now.  Come  on,  will  you  shake  hands 
on  the  deal?" 

She  looked  at  him  questioningly,  his  powerful 
hand  reached  out  to  help  her,  the  old,  boyish 
laughter  in  his  eyes,  and  then  she  smiled  back  as 
bravely. 

"All  right,"  she  said,  "but  you'll  have  to  be  care 
ful — because  now  I'm  your  dearest  friend." 

"I'm  game,"  he  cried,  "and  you  don't  have  to 
kiss  me  either.  But  if  some  Dago  tenor " 

"No,"  she  promised  looking  up  at  him  wistfully. 
•Til— I'll  save  the  kiss  for  you." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

BROKE  AGAIN 

^  I  AHE  industry  of  four  jumpers,  digging  in  like 
-1-  gophers  on  the  best  of  Bunker  Hill's  claims, 
was  brought  to  an  abrupt  termination  by  the  ap 
pearance  of  one  man  with  a  gun.  He  came  on  un 
concernedly,  Dave's  six-shooter  at  his  hip  and  the 
strength  of  a  lion  in  his  stride;  and  the  first  of  the 
gun-men,  after  looking  him  over,  jumped  out  of 
his  hole  and  made  off.  Denver  tore  down  his  notice 
and  posted  the  old  one,  with  a  copy  of  his  original 
affidavit  that  the  annual  work  had  been  done;  and 
when  he  toiled  up  to  the  remaining  three  claims  the 
jumpers  had  fled  before  him.  They  knew  him  all 
too  well,  and  the  gun  at  his  hip;  and  they  counted 
it  no  disgrace  to  give  way  before  the  man  who 
had  conquered  Dave  Chatwourth  with  rocks.  So 
Denver  changed  the  notices  and  came  back  laughing 
and  Bunker  Hill  made  over  the  claims. 

"Denver,"  he  said  clasping  him  warmly  by  the 
hand,  "I  swow,  you're  the  best  danged  friend  I've 
got.  For  the  last  time,  now,  will  you  come  to 
dinner?" 

"Sure,"  grinned  Denver,  "but  cut  out  that 
'friend'  talk.  It  makes  me  kind  of  nervous." 

1 80 


BROKE  AGAIN  181 

"I'll  do  it!"  promised  Bunker,  "I'll  do  anything 
you  ask  me.  You  saved  my  bacon  on  them  claims. 
That  snooping  Dutch  Professor  tipped  them 
jumpers  off  that  I'd  promised  my  wife  not  to  shoot, 
but  I  guess  when  they  see  you  come  rambling  up 
the  gulch  they  begin  to  feel  like  Davey  Crockett's 
coon. 

"'  'Don't  shoot,  Davey/  he  says,  'I  know  you'll 
get  me/  And  he  came  right  down  off  the  limb."  Old 
Bunker  laughed  uproariously  and  slapped  Denver 
on  the  back,  after  which  he  took  him  over  to  the 
house  and  announced  a  guest  for  dinner. 

"Sit  down,  boy,  sit  down,"  he  insisted  hospitably 
as  Denver  spoke  of  going  home  to  dress,  "you're 
company  just  the  way  you  are.  As  Lord  Chester 
field  says:  'A  clean  shirt  is  half  of  full  dress/  And 
a  pair  of  overalls,  I  reckon,  is  the  rest  of  it.  Say, 
did  you  hear  what  Murray  said  when  we  took  Dave 
over  there,  looking  like  something  that  the  cat  had 
brought  in? 

'  'My  Gawd/  he  says,  'what  has  happened  to  the 
mine?' 

"That  was  something  like  a  deacon  that  I  worked 
for  one  time  when  he  was  fixing  to  paint  his  barn. 
He  slung  a  ladder  on  an  old,  rotten  rope  and  sent 
me  up  on  it  to  work  and  about  half  an  hour  after 
wards  the  rope  gave  way  and  dropped  me,  ladder 
and  all,  to  the  ground.  The  deacon  was  at  the 
house  when  he  heard  the  crash  and  he  came  run 
ning  with  his  coat-tails  straight  out. 


182  SILVER  AND   GOLD 

"  'Goodness  gracious  !'  he  hollered,  'did  you  spill 
the  paint?' 

"'No/  I  says,  'but  I  will!'  And  I  kicked  all 
his  paint-cans  over. 

"Well,  old  Murray  is  like  that  deacon ;  you  touch 
his  pocket  and  you  touch  his  heart — he's  always 
thinking  about  money.  He'd  been  planning  for 
months  to  slip  in  and  jump  these  claims  and  here 
you  come  along  and  do  the  assessment  work  and 
knock  him  out  of  five  of  'em.  The  boys  say  he's 
sure  got  blood  in  his  eye  and  is  cussing  you  out 
a  blue  streak.  That's  a  nice  gun  you  got  off  of 
Dave — how  many  notches  has  it  got  on  the  butt? 
Only  three,  eh?  Well,  say,  if  he  ever  sends  over 
to  ask  for  it  I've  got  another  one  that  I'll  loan  you. 
You  want  to  go  heeled,  understand  ?  Murray's  busy 
right  now  bossing  those  three  shifts  of  miners  that 
are  driving  that  adit  tunnel,  but  when  he  gets  the 
time  he'll  leave  his  glass  eye  on  a  fence  post  and 
come  over  to  see  what  we're  doing.  Didn't  you 
ever  hear  about  Murray's  glass  eye  ? 

"Well,  they  say  he  lost  his  good  one  looking  for 
a  dollar  that  he  dropped;  but  here's  the  big  joke 
about  the  fence-post  He  got  his  start  down  in  the 
valley,  raising  alfalfa  and  feeding  stock,  and  he 
always  hired  Indians  whenever  he  could  because 
they  spent  all  their  time-checks  at  the  store.  A 
Mexican  or  a  white  man  might  hold  out  a  few 
dollars,  or  spend  the  whole  wad  for  booze;  but 
Indians  are  barred  from  getting  drunk  and  they've 
only  got  one  use  for  money.  Yes,  they  believe  it 


BROKE  AGAIN  183 

was  made  to  spend,  not  to  bury  alongside  of  some 
fence-post.  And  speaking  of  fence-posts  brings  me 
back  to  the  point — Old  Murray  had  a  bunch  of  big, 
lazy  Apaches  working  by  the  day  cleaning  out  a 
ditch.  He  was  down  there  at  daylight  and  watched 
'em  like  a  hawk,  but  every  time  he'd  go  into  town 
the  whole  bunch  would  sit  down  for  a  talk.  Well, 
he  had  to  go  to  town  so  one  day  he  called  'em  up 
and  made  'em  a  little  talk. 

"  'Boys/  he  says,  Tve  got  to  go  to  town  but  I'm 
going  to  watch  you,  all  the  same.  Sure  thing,  now,' 
he  says,  'you  can  laugh  all  you  want  to,  but  I'll 
see  everything  that  you  do.'  Then  he  took  out 
his  glass  eye  and  set  it  on  a  fence-post  where  it 
looked  right  down  the  ditch,  and  started  off  for 
town.  You  know  these  Apaches — superstitious  as 
hell — they  got  in  and  worked  like  niggers.  Kinder 
scared  'em,  you  see,  ain't  used  to  glass  eyes;  but 
there  was  one  old  boy  that  was  foxy.  He  dropped 
down  in  the  ditch  where  the  eye  wouldn't  see  him 
and  crept  up  behind  that  fence-post  like  a  snake, 
and  then  he  picked  up  an  empty  tin  can  and  slapped 
it  down  over  the  eye.  There  was  a  boy  over  at 
the  ranch  that  saw  the  whole  business  and  he  says 
them  Indians  never  did  a  lick  of  work  till  they  saw 
Bible-Back's  dust  down  the  road.  Pretty  slick,  eh, 
for  an  Indian?  And  some  people  will  try  to  tell 
you  that  the  untutored  savage  can't  think. 

"Well,  that's  the  kind  of  an  hombre  that  we're 
up  against — he'd  skin  a  flea  for  his  hide  and  taller. 
As  old  Spud  Murphy  used  to  say,  he'd  rob  a  poor 


184  SILVER  AND   GOLD 

tumble-bug  of  his  ball  of  manure  and  put  him  on 
the  wrong  road  home.  He's  mean,  and  it  sure  hurt 
his  feelings  to  have  you  hop  in  and  win  back  your 
mine.  And  knocking  Dave  on  the  head  took  the 
pip  out  of  these  other  jumpers — I'm  looking  for  the 
whole  bunch  to  fade." 

"Well,  they  might  as  well,"  said  Denver,  "be 
cause  their  claims  are  not  worth  fighting  for  and 
there's  a  Miners'  Committee  going  to  call  on  'em. 
I'm  going  along  myself  in  an  advisory  capacity, 
and  my  advice  will  be  to  beat  it.  And  if  you'll  take 
a  tip  from  me  you'll  hire  a  couple  of  miners  and 
put  them  to  work  on  your  claims." 

"I'll  do  it  to-morrow,"  agreed  Bunker  enthu 
siastically.  "I've  got  a  couple  of  nibbles  from  some 
real  mining  men — not  some  of  these  little,  one- 
candle  power  promoters  but  the  kind  that  pay  with 
certified  checks — and  if  I  can  open  up  those  claims 
and  just  get  a  color  of  copper  I'm  fixed,  boy,  that's 
all  there  is  to  it.  Come  on  now,  let's  go  in  to 
dinner." 

The  memory  of  that  dinner,  and  of  the  music 
that  followed  it,  remained  long  in  Denver's  mind; 
and  later  in  the  evening,  when  the  lights  were  low 
and  her  parents  had  gone  to  their  rest,  Drusilla  sang 
the  "Barcarolle"  from  Hoffmann.  She  sang  it  very 
softly,  so  as  not  to  disturb  them,  but  the  look  in 
her  eyes  recalled  something  to  Denver  and  as  he 
was  leaving  he  asked  her  a  question.  It  was  not 
if  she  loved  him,  for  that  would  be  unfair  and 
might  spoil  an  otherwise  perfect  evening;  but  he 


BROKE  AGAIN  185 

had  been  wondering  as  he  listened  whether  she  had 
not  seen  him  that  first  time — when  he  had  slipped 
down  and  listened  from  the  shadows. 

And  when  he  asked  her  she  smiled  up  at  him 
tremulously  and  nodded  her  head  very  slowly;  and 
then  she  whispered  that  she  had  always  loved  him 
for  it,  just  for  listening  and  going  away.  She  had 
been  downcast  that  night  but  his  presence  had  been 
a  comfort — it  had  persuaded  her  at  last  that  she 
could  sing.  She  had  sung  the  "Barcarolle"  again,  on 
that  other  night,  when  he  had  stepped  out  so  boldly 
from  the  shadows;  but  it  was  the  first  time  that 
she  loved  him  for  it,  when  he  was  still  a  total 
stranger  and  had  come  just  to  hear  her  sing.  There 
was  more  that  she  said  to  him  and  when  he  had 
to  go  she  smiled  again  and  gave  him  her  hand,  but 
he  did  not  suggest  a  kiss.  She  was  keeping  that 
for  him,  until  she  had  been  to  New  York  and  run 
the  gauntlet  of  the  tenors. 

This  was  the  high  spot  in  Denver's  life,  when 
he  had  stood  upon  Parnassus  and  beheld  everything 
that  was  good  and  beautiful;  but  in  the  morning 
he  put  on  his  old  digging  clothes  again  and  went 
to  work  in  the  mine.  He  had  seen  her  and  it  was 
enough;  now  to  break  out  the  ore  and  win  her  for 
his  own.  For  he  was  poor,  and  she  was  poor,  and 
how  could  she  succeed  without  money?  But  if  he 
could  open  up  his  mine  and  block  out  a  great  ore 
body  then  her  claims  and  Bunker's,  that  touched  it 
on  both  sides,  would  take  on  a  speculative  value. 
They  could  be  sold  for  cash  and  she  could  go  East 


1 86  SILVER  AND   GOLD 

in  style,  to  take  lessons  from  the  ten-dollar  teacher 
who  had  influence  with  directors  and  impresarios. 
Denver  put  in  a  round  of  holes  and  blasted  his 
way  into  the  mountain;  but  as  he  came  out  in  the 
evening,  dirty  and  grimed  and  pale  from  powder 
sickness,  Drusilla  paled  too  and  almost  shrank  away. 
She  had  strolled  up  before,  only  to  hear  the  clank 
of  his  steel  and  the  muffled  thud  of  his  blows;  and 
now  as  she  stood  waiting,  attired  as  daintily  as  a 
bride,  the  dream-hero  of  her  memories  was  ban 
ished.  He  was  a  miner  again,  a  sweaty,  toiling 
animal,  dead  to  all  the  finer  things  of  life;  but  if 
Denver  read  her  thoughts  he  did  not  notice,  for 
he  remembered  what  Mother  Trigedgo  had  told 
him. 

Two  weeks  passed  by  and  Labor  Day  came  near, 
when  all  the  hardy  miners  foregathered  in  Globe 
and  Miami  and  engaged  in  the  sports  of  their  kind. 
A  circular  came  to  Denver,  announcing  the  drilling 
contests  and  giving  his  name  as  one  of  the  con 
testants;  then  a  personal  letter  from  the  Committee 
on  Arrangements,  requesting  him  to  send  in  his 
entry;  and  at  last  there  came  a  messenger,  a  good 
hard-rock  man  named  Owen,  to  suggest  that  they 
go  in  together.  But  Denver  was  driving  himself 
to  the  limit,  blasting  out  ore  that  grew  richer  each 
day;  and  at  thought  of  Bible-Back  Murray,  waiting 
to  pounce  upon  his  mine,  he  sent  back  a  reluctant 
refusal.  Yet  they  published  his  name,  with  the 
partner's  place  left  vacant,  and  advertised  that  he 
would  participate;  for  on  the  Fourth  of  July,  with 


BROKE  AGAIN  187 

Slogger  Meacham  for  a  partner,  he  had  won  the 
title  of  champion. 

The  decision  to  go  was  forced  upon  him  sud- 
dently  on  the  day  before  the  event,  though  he  had 
almost  lost  track  of  time.  Every  morning  at  day 
break  he  had  been  up  and  cooking,  after  breakfast 
he  had  gone  to  the  mine ;  and,  between  mucking  out 
the  tunnel  and  putting  in  new  shots,  the  weeks  had 
passed  like  days.  But  when  he  went  to  Bunker 
on  the  eighth  of  September  and  asked  for  a  little 
more  powder  Bunker  took  him  to  the  powder-house 
and  showed  him  a  space  where  the  boxes  of 
dynamite  had  been.  Then  he  took  him  behind  the 
counter  and  showed  him  the  money-till  and  Denver 
awoke  from  his  dream. 

In  spite  of  the  stampede  and  the  activity  all  about 
them  the  whole  Final  district  was  not  producing 
a  cent,  and  would  not  for  months  to  come.  Every 
dollar  that  was  spent  there  had  to  come  in  from  the 
outside,  and  the  men  who  held  the  claims  were 
all  poor.  Even  after  driving  off  the  jumpers  and 
regaining  their  lost  claims  the  majority  had  gone 
home  after  merely  scratching  up  their  old  dumps  in 
a  vain  pretense  at  doing  the  assessment  work. 

The  promoters  were  not  buying,  they  were  simply 
taking  options  and  waiting  on  Murray's  tunnel ;  and 
until  he  drove  in  and  actually  tapped  the  copper 
ore  there  would  be  no  steady  boom.  He  had  or 
ganized  a  company  and  was  selling  a  world  of  stock, 
even  using  it  to  pay  off  his  men:  and  it  was  whis 
pered  about  that  his  strike  was  a  fake,  for  he  still 


i88  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

refused  to  exhibit  the  drill  cores.  But  whether  his 
strike  was  a  bona  fide  discovery  or  merely  a  ruse 
to  sell  stock,  the  fact  could  not  be  blinked  that 
Denver  and  Bunker  Hill  had  reached  the  end  of 
their  rope.  They  were  broke  again  and  Denver  set 
out  for  Globe,  leaving  Bunker  to  hold  down  his 
claim. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE  ROCK-DRILLING  CONTEST 

THE  main  street  of  Globe  was  swarming  with 
men,  from  the  court-house  square  down  past 
the  viaduct  to  where  the  Bohunks  dwelt.  And  the 
men  were  all  miners,  deep-chested  and  square- 
shouldered,  but  white  from  working  under-ground. 
They  were  gathered  in  knots  before  the  soft-drink 
emporiums  that  before  had  all  been  saloons  and 
as  Denver  rode  in  they  shouted  a  hoarse  welcome 
and  followed  on  to  Miners'  Hall.  There  the  Com 
mittee  of  Arrangements  was  sitting  in  state  but 
when  Denver  strode  in  a  huge  form  bulked  up  be 
fore  him  and  Slogger  Meacham  grinned  at  him 
evilly.  Two  months  before,  on  the  Fourth  of  July, 
they  had  been  partners  in  the  winning  team;  but 
now  Meacham  had  taken  on  with  a  Cornishman 
from  Miami  and  they  counted  the  money  as  good 
as  won. 

"What  are  you  doing  here?"  demanded  the 
Slogger  insolently,  "do  you  think  you're  going  to 
compete  ?" 

"Danged  right  I  am,  if  the  judges  will  let  me," 
answered  Denver  shoving  resolutely  past;  and  at 
sight  of  their  lost  champion  the  committee  bright- 

189 


SILVER  AND  GOLD 


ened  up,  though  they  glanced  at  each  other 
anxiously.  But  what  they  wanted  was  a  contest, 
something  that  would  bring  out  the  crowd  and  make 
the  great  day  a  success,  and  they  waited  upon  Den 
ver  expectantly. 

"Well,  here's  where  you  get  left  then,"  spoke 
up  Meacham  with  a  sneer,  "the  entries  were  closed 
at  noon." 

"Oh,  hell!"  cursed  Denver  and  was  turning  to 
go  when  the  chairman  called  him  back. 

"Just  a  minute,"  he  said,  "didn't  you  send  in 
your  entry?  I  believe  we've  got  it  here,  some 
where."  He  began  to  fumble  industriously  through 
a  pile  of  papers  and  Denver  caught  his  breath. 
For  a  moment  he  had  seen  his  dreams  brought  to 
nothing,  his  last  chance  at  the  prize-money  gone; 
but  at  this  tentative  suggestion  on  the  part  of  the 
chairman  he  suddenly  took  heart  of  grace.  They 
wanted  him  to  compete,  it  had  been  advertised  in 
all  the  papers,  and  they  were  willing  to  meet  him 
halfway.  But  Denver  was  no  liar,  he  shook  his 
head  and  sighed,  then  turned  back  at  a  sudden 
thought. 

"Maybe  Tom  Owen  made  the  entry?"  he  burst 
out  eagerly,  "he  was  over  to  see  me,  you  know." 

"That  was  it!"  exclaimed  the  chairman  as  if 
clutching  at  a  straw,  "say,  where  is  that  blank  of 
theirs,  Joe?" 

"Search  me,"  answered  Joe,  "it's  around  here, 
somewhere.  Oh,  I  know  !"  And  he  went  out  into 
the  back  room.  "Ain't  this  it  ?"  he  inquired  return- 


THE  ROCK-DRILLING  CONTEST     191 

ing  with  a  paper  and  the  chairman  snatched  it  away 
from  him. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "how'd  it  get  out  there?  Well, 
no  matter — that's  all  right,  Mr.  Russell!" 

"No  it  ain't!"  blurted  out  Meacham  making  a 
grab  for  the  paper;  but  the  chairman  struck  away 
his  hand. 

"You  keep  out  of  this!"  he  said.  "What  d'ye 
think  you're  trying  to  do?  You  keep  out  or  I'll 
put  you  out!" 

"It's  a  flim-flam!"  raged  Meacham,  "you're  try 
ing  to  job  me.  He  never  made  no  entry." 

"I  never  claimed  to,"  retorted  Denver  boldly  and 
Meacham  turned  on  him,  his  pig  eyes  blazing  with 
fury. 

"I'll  fix  you,  for  this!"  he  burst  out  hoarsely, 
"I'll  get  you  if  I  have  to  kill  you.  You  robbed 
me  once,  but  you  won't  do  it  again;  so  I  give  you 
fair  warning — pull  out !" 

"You  robbed  inel"  came  back  Denver,  "and  these 
boys  all  know  it.  But  I  fought  you  fair  for  the 
whole  danged  roll " 

"You  did  naht!"  howled  Meacham,  "you  had  a 
feller  with  ye " 

"Well,  I'll  fight  you  right  now,  then,"  volunteered 
Denver  accommodatingly  but  the  Slogger  did  not 
put  up  his  hands. 

"That's  all  right,"  he  said  backing  sullenly  away 
"but  remember  what  I  told  you — I'll  git  ye!" 

"You'll  git  nothing!"  returned  Denver  and 
laughed  him  out  the  door,  though  there  were  others 


i92  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

who  muttered  warnings  in  his  ears.  Slogger 
Meacham  was  a  fighter  as  well  as  a  driller  and  his 
flight  with  the  prize-money  was  not  the  first  time 
that  he  had  lapsed  from  the  ways  of  strict  rectitude. 
He  had  killed  a  man  during  the  riots  at  Goldfield 
and  had  been  involved  in  several  ugly  brawls;  but 
his  record  as  a  bad  man  did  not  deter  Denver  from 
opposing  him  and  he  went  out  to  hunt  up  Owen. 

Tom  Owen  was  a  good  man,  and  he  was  also 
a  good  driller,  but  there  was  one  thing  that  Denver 
held  against  him — he  had  been  a  drinking  man  when 
Arizona  was  wet.  And  a  man  who  has  drunk,  no 
matter  when,  is  never  quite  the  same  in  a  contest. 
He  has  lost  that  narrow  margin  of  vital  force, 
those  last  few  ounces  of  strength  and  stamina  which 
win  or  lose  at  the  finish.  Yet  even  at  that  he  was 
a  better  man  than  Meacham,  who  had  laid  down 
like  a  yellow  dog.  Denver  remembered  that  too 
and  when  he  found  his  man  he  told  him  they  were 
due  to  win.  Then  he  borrowed  some  drills  and  a 
pair  of  eight-pound  hammers  and  they  went  through 
a  try-out  together.  Owen  was  quick  and  strong, 
he  ma'de  the  changes  like  lightning  and  struck  a 
heavy  blow ;  but  when  it  was  over  and  he  was  roll 
ing  a  cigarette  Denver  noticed  that  his  hand  was 
trembling.  The  strain  of  smashing  blows  had  over 
taxed  his  nerves,  though  they  had  worked  but  three 
or  four  minutes. 

"Well,  do  the  best  you  can,"  said  Denver  at  last, 
"and  for  cripes  sake,  keep  away  from  this  boot-leg/' 

There  was  plenty  of  it  in  town  on  this  festive 


THE  ROCK-DRILLING  CONTEST     193 

occasion,  a  nerve-shattering  mixture  that  came  in 
from  New  Mexico  and  had  a  kick  like  a  mule.  It 
was  circulating  about  in  hip  pockets  and  suit-cases 
and  in  automobiles  with  false-bottomed  seats,  and 
Denver  knew  too  well  from  past  experience  what 
the  temptation  was  likely  to  be;  yet  for  all  his 
admonitions  when  he  met  Owen  in  the  morning  he 
caught  the  bouquet  of  whisky.  It  was  disguised  with 
sen-sen  and  he  pretended  not  to  notice  it  but  his 
hopes  of  first  money  began  to  wane.  They  went 
out  again  to  the  backyard  of  an  old  saloon  where  a 
great  block  of  granite  was  embedded  and  while 
their  admirers  looked  on  they  practiced  their  turn, 
for  they  had  never  worked  together.  A  Cornish 
miner,  a  champion  in  his  day,  volunteered  to  be 
their  coach  and  at  each  call  of:  "Change!"  they 
shifted  from  drill  to  hammer  without  breaking  the 
rhythm  of  their  stroke. 

"You'll  win,  lads,"  said  the  Cornishman,  patting 
them  affectionately  on  the  back  and  Denver  led  them 
off  for  their  rub-down. 

The  band  began  to  play  in  the  street  below  and 
the  Miners'  Union  marched  past,  after  which  they 
banked  in  about  a  huge  block  of  granite  and  the 
drilling  contests  began.  The  drilling  rock  was 
placed  on  a  platform  of  heavy  timbers  at  the  lower 
side  of  the  court-house  square,  and  the  slope  above 
it  and  the  windows  of  all  the  buildings  were 
crowded  with  shouting  miners.  First  the  men  who 
were  to  compete  in  the  single-jack  contests  mounted 
the  platform  one  by  one ;  and  the  sharp,  peck,  peck. 


i94  SILVER  AND   GOLD 

of  their  hammers  made  music  that  the  miners  knew 
well.  Then,  as  their  holes  were  cleaned  out  and 
the  depth  of  each  measured,  the  first  team  of  double- 
jackers  climbed  up  to  the  platform  amid  the  frantic 
plaudits  of  the  crowd.  The  announcer  introduced 
them,  they  laid  out  their  drills  and  the  hammer-man 
poised  his  double-jack;  then  at  the  word  from  the 
umpire  they  leapt  into  action,  striking  and  turning 
like  men  gone  mad. 

There  were  five  teams  entered,  of  which  Denver's 
was  the  last,  but  when  Meacham  and  his  partner 
were  announced  as  the  next  contestants  his  impa 
tience  would  not  brook  further  delay.  With  his 
own  precious  drills  tied  securely  in  a  bundle  and 
Owen  and  the  coach  behind  him  he  fought  his  way 
to  the  base  of  the  platform  and  sat  down  where 
he  could  watch  every  blow.  They  came  on  together, 
a  team  hard  to  match;  Meacham  stripped  to  the 
waist,  his  ponderous  head  thrust  forward,  the 
muscles  swelling  to  great  knots  in  his  arms.  His 
partner  wore  the  heavy,  yellow  undershirt  of  a 
miner,  his  trousers  draped  low  on  his  hips;  and 
to  hold  them  up  he  had  a  strand  of  black  fuse 
twisted  loosely  in  place  of  a  belt.  He  was  a  hard, 
hairy  man,  with  grim,  deep-set  eyes  and  a  jaw  that 
jutted  out  like  a  crag  and  as  he  raised  his  hammer 
to  strike  Denver  saw  that  he  was  out  to  win. 

"Go!"  called  the  umpire  and  the  hammer  smote 
the  drill-head  till  it  made  the  blue  granite  smoke; 
and  then  for  thirty  seconds  he  flailed  away  while 
Slogger  Meacham  turned  the  short  starter-drill 


THE  ROCK-DRILLING  CONTEST     195 

"Change!"  called  their  coach  and  with  a  single 
swoop  Meacham  flung  his  drill  back  into  the  crowd 
and  caught  up  his  hammer  to  strike.  His  partner 
dropped  his  hammer  and  chucked  in  a  fresh  drill — 
smash,  the  hammer  struck  it  into  the  rock — and  so 
they  turned  and  struck  while  the  ramping  miners 
below  them  looked  on  in  envious  amazement.  As 
each  drill  was  thrown  out  it  was  brought  back  from 
where  it  fell  and  examined  by  the  quick-eyed  coach, 
and  as  he  called  off  the  half  minutes  he  announced 
their  probable  depth  as  indicated  by  the  mud  marks 
on  the  drills.  Across  the  block  from  the  two  drillers 
knelt  a  man  with  a  rubber  tube  who  poured 
water  into  the  churning  hole;  and  at  each  blow  of 
the  hammer  the  gray  mud  leapt  up,  splashing  turner 
and  hammer-man  alike. 

At  the  end  of  five  minutes  they  were  down  fifteen 
inches,  at  ten  they  still  held  their  pace;  but  as 
Denver  glanced  doubtfully  at  his  coach  and  Owen 
the  sound  of  the  drilling  changed.  There  was  a 
grating  noise,  a  curse  from  the  turner,  and  as  he 
flung  out  the  drill  and  thrust  in  another  a  murmur 
went  up  from  the  crowd.  They  had  broken  the  bit 
from  the  brittle  edge  of  their  drill  and  the  new 
drill  was  grinding  away  on  the  fragment,  which 
dulled  the  keen  edge  of  the  steel.  The  quick  ears 
of  the  miners  could  sense  the  different  sound  as  the 
drill  champed  the  fragment  to  pieces,  and  when  the 
next  change  was  made  the  mud-marks  on  the  drill 
showed  that  over  an  inch  had  been  lost.  A  team 
working  at  top  speed  averaged  three  inches  to  the 


1 96  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

minute,  driving  down  through  hard  Gunnison 
granite ;  but  Meacham  and  his  partner  had  lost  their 
fast  start  and  they  had  yet  four  minutes  to  go. 
The  tall  Cornishman's  eyes  gleamed — he  struck 
harder  than  ever — but  Meacham  had  begun  to  lose 
heart.  The  accident  upset  him,  and  the  grate  of 
the  broken  steel  as  the  drill  bit  down  on  chance 
fragments;  and  as  his  coach  urged  him  on  he 
glanced  up  from  his  turning  with  a  look  that  Den 
ver  knew  well.  It  was  the  old  pig-eyed  glare,  the 
look  of  unreasoning  resentment,  that  he  had  seen 
on  the  Fourth  of  July. 

"He's  quitting,"  chuckled  Owen  when  Meacham 
rose  to  strike;  but  when  the  hole  was  measured  it 
came  to  forty-three  and  fifteen-sixteenths  of  an 
inch.  The  big  Cornishman  had  done  it  in  spite  of 
his  partner,  he  had  refused  to  accept  defeat;  and 
now,  with  only  two  more  teams  to  compete,  they  led 
by  nearly  an  inch. 

"You  can  beat  it!"  cried  Denver's  coach,  "I've 
done  better  than  that  myself!  Forty- four!  You 
can  make  forty-six!" 

"I'm  game,"  answered  Denver,  "but  it  takes  two 
to  win.  Do  you  think  you  can  stick  it  out,  Tom?" 

"I'll  be  up  there,  trying,"  returned  Owen  grimly 
and  Denver  nodded  to  the  coach. 

The  next  team  did  no  better,  for  it  is  a  heart 
breaking  test  and  the  sun  was  getting  hot,  and  when 
Denver  and  Owen  mounted  up  on  the  platform 
a  hush  fell  upon  the  crowd.  Denver  Russell  they 
knew,  but  Owen  was  a  new  man;  and  a  drilling 


THE  ROCK-DRILLING  CONTEST     197 

contest  is  won  on  pure  nerve.  Would  he  crack, 
like  Meacham,  as  the  end  approached,  or  would  he 
stand  up  to  the  punishment?  They  looked  on  in 
silence  as  Denver  spread  out  his  drills — a  full 
twenty,  oil-tempered,  of  the  best  Norway  steel,  each 
narrower  by  a  hair  than  its  predecessor.  The  starter 
was  short  and  heavy,  with  an  inch-and-a-quarter 
bit;  and  the  last  long  drill  had  a  seven-eighths  bit, 
which  would  just  cut  a  one-inch  hole.  They  were 
the  best  that  money  could  buy  and  a  famous  tool- 
sharpener  in  Miami  had  tempered  their  edges  to 
perfection.  Denver  picked  up  his  starter,  all  the 
officials  left  the  platform,  and  Owen  raised  his 
hammer. 

"Are  the  drillers  ready?"  challenged  the  umpire. 
'Then  go!"  he  shouted,  and  the  double-jack 
descended  with  a  smash.  For  thirty  seconds  while 
the  drill  leapt  and  bounded,  Denver  held  it  firmly 
in  its  place,  and  at  the  call  of  "Change !"  he  chucked 
it  over  his  shoulder  and  swung  his  own  hammer  in 
the  air.  Owen  popped  in  a  new  drill,  the  hammer 
struck  it  squarely  and  the  crowd  set  up  a  cheer. 
Denver  was  working  hard,  striking  faster  than  his 
partner;  and  in  every  stroke  there  was  a  smashing 
enthusiasm,  a  romping  joy  in  the  work,  that  won 
the  hearts  of  the  miners.  He  was  what  they  had 
been  before  drink  and  bad  air  had  sapped  the  first 
freshness  of  their  strength,  or  dust  and  hot  stopes 
had  broken  their  wind,  or  accidents  had  crippled 
them  up — he  was  a  miner,  young  and  hardy,  put- 


i98  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

ting  his  body  behind  each  blow  yet  striking  like  a 
tireless  automaton. 

"Change !"  cried  the  coach,  his  voice  ringing  with 
pride ;  and  as  the  drill  came  flying  back  he  shouted 
out  the  depth  which  was  better  than  three  inches 
for  the  minute.  At  five  minutes  it  was  sixteen,  at 
ten,  thirty-three;  but  at  eleven  the  pace  slackened 
off  and  at  twelve  they  had  lost  an  inch.  Tom 
Owen  was  weakening,  in  spite  of  his  nerve,  in 
spite  of  his  dogged  persistence ;  he  struck  the  same, 
but  his  blows  had  lost  their  drive,  the  drill  did  not 
bite  so  deep.  At  every  stroke,  as  Denver  twisted 
the  long  drill  loose  and  turned  it  by  so  much  in  the 
hole,  he  raised  it  up  and  struck  it  against  the  bot 
tom,  to  add  to  the  weight  of  the  blows.  The  mud 
and  muck  from  the  hole  splashed  up  into  his  face 
and  painted  his  body  a  dull  gray,  but  at  thirteen 
minutes  they  had  lost  their  lead  and  Tom  Owen 
was  striking  wild.  Then  he  missed  the  steel  and 
a  great  voice  rose  up  in  mocking,  stentorian 
laughter. 

"Ho !  Ho !"  it  roared,  and  Denver  knew  it  well 
— it  was  Slogger  Meacham,  exulting. 

"Here — you  turn!"  he  said  flinging  out  his  drill, 
and  as  Owen  sank  down  on  his  knees  by  the  hole 
Denver  caught  up  his  double- jack  and  struck.  For 
a  half  minute,  a  minute,  he  flailed  away  at  the 
steel;  while  Owen,  his  shoulders  heaving,  turned 
the  drill  like  clock-work  and  gasped  to  win  back 
his  strength. 


THE  ROCK-DRILLING  CONTEST    199 

"Thirteen  and  a  half!"  announced  the  coach  at 
last  and  then  he  shouted :  "Change !" 

"No — turn!"  panted  Denver ,  never  missing  a 
stroke;  and  Owen  sank  back  to  his  place  by  the 
hole  while  the  battery  of  blows  kept  on. 

"Fourteen!'1  proclaimed  the  coach,  "you're  about 
an  inch  behind.  How  about  it — do  you  want  to 
change  ?" 

"No— turn!"  choked  Denver.  "I'll  finish  it— 
turn!"  And  as  Owen  straightened  his  back  Den 
ver  struck  like  a  mad-man  while  the  sweat  poured 
down  in  a  shower.  The  official  umpire  leapt  up 
on  the  platform  to  toll  off  the  last  sixty  seconds, 
but  the  rise  and  fall  of  Denver's  body  was  faster 
by  far  than  his  count.  A  frenzy  seemed  to  seize 
him  as  the  half  minute  was  called  and  Owen  slipped 
in  their  last  drill ;  and  with  hoarse,  coughing  grunts 
he  smashed  it  deeper  and  deeper  while  the  miners 
surged  forward  with  a  cheer. 

"Fifty-eight — fifty-nine — sixty!"  cried  the  um 
pire,  slapping  him  sharply  on  the  back  to  stop,  and 
Denver  fell  like  dead  across  the  stone.  His  great 
strength  had  left  him,  completely,  on  the  instant; 
and  when  he  raised  his  head  there  was  a  grinning 
crowd  around  him  as  his  coach  was  measuring  the 
last  drill. 

"The  poor,  dom  fool!'1  he  exclaimed  com- 
miseratingly,  "and  to  think  of  him  wurruking  like 
thot.  He's  ahead  by  two  inches  and  more." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE  HEART  OF  HIS  BELOVED 

'HPHERE  was  a  celebration  that  day  which 
-*•  warmed  Denver's  heart  and  sent  Slogger 
Meacham  cursing  out  of  the  camp,  but  as  soon  as 
it  was  over  and  he  had  his  prize  money  in  his  hand 
Denver  remembered  his  unguarded  claim.  Bunker 
Hill  was  there,  of  course,  but  the  spiteful  Professor 
had  heralded  his  pledge  afar;  and  a  man  who  has 
promised  his  wife  not  to  fight  is  ill-fitted  to  herd 
a  mine.  No,  the  Silver  Treasure  lay  open  for  Dave 
or  Murray  to  jump,  if  they  felt  like  contesting  his 
claim;  and,  weak  as  he  was,  Denver  took  no  rest 
until  he  was  back  where  he  could  fight  for  his  own. 
He  rode  in  late  and  slept  like  the  dead,  but  in  the 
morning  he  was  up  and  down  at  the  store  as  soon 
as  Old  Bunk  came  out. 

"I  win!"  he  announced  holding  up  the  roll  of 
bills,  "first  money — can  you  get  me  some  powder?" 

"W'y,  you  lucky  fool!"  exclaimed  Bunker  ad 
miringly,  "seems  like  nothing  can  keep  you  down. 
Sure  I'll  get  your  powder,  and  just  to  show  you 
what  /  can  do — how's  that  for  a  healthy  little  roll  ?" 
He  drew  out  a  roll  of  bills  twice  the  size  of  Den 
ver's  and  fingered  them  over  lovingly.  "A  thousand 
dollars,"  he  murmured,  "for  an  option  on  half  the 


200 


THE  HEART  OF  HIS  BELOVED      201 

Lost  Burro.  A  party  came  up  yesterday  and  took 
one  look  at  it  and  grabbed  it  right  off  the  bat,  and 
as  soon  as  old  Murray  gets  in  to  his  ore  they're 
going  to  capitalize  the  Burro  for  a  million.  Fine 
name  that,  for  stock-selling — known  all  over  the 
world,  in  England,  Paris  and  everywhere — but  I 
made  'em  come  through  with  a  thousand  dollars 
cash,  so  Drusilla  could  have  a  good  stake.  She's 
thinking  of  going  East,  soon." 

"'S  that  so?"  said  Denver,  trying  to  take  it  all 
in,  "are  these  parties  going  to  do  any  work?" 

"Well,  that's  an  unfair  question,  as  Pecos 
Edwards  used  to  say  when  they  asked  him  if  all 
Texans  was  cow-thieves;  but  you  know  how  these 
promoters  work.  There'll  be  lots  of  work  done; 
but  mostly  by  lawyers,  and  publicity  men  and  such. 
There's  a  whole  lot  of  water  in  the  workings  of 
the  Lost  Burro  that'll  have  to  be  pumped  out  first, 
and  then  there's  a  little  job  of  timbering  that'll  cost 
a  world  of  money.  No,  I  sold  them  that  mine  on 
the  ore  in  your  tunnel — I  will  say,  it  shows  up 
splendid.  If  you'd' ve  been  here  yesterday  you 
might  have  made  a  deal  that  would " 

"Not  on  your  life!"  broke  in  Denver,  "I  don't 
sell  to  anybody.  But  say,  but  what  did  they  think 
of  my  mine?" 

"Think !"  exclaimed  Bunker,  "they  stopped  think 
ing  right  here,  when  I  showed  'em  that  big  vein 
of  copper!  They  went  crazy,  just  like  lunatics; 
because  it  ain't  often,  I'm  telling  you,  that  you  find 
sixty-per-cent  copper  on  the  surface." 


202  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

"Not  in  a  fissure  vein — no/*  agreed  Denver  em 
phatically,  "I  wouldn't  sell  out  for  a  million.  Did 
those  promoters  take  away  any  samples?" 

"Well,  yes ;  a  few,"  responded  Bunker  apologetic 
ally,  "I  didn't  think  you'd  object." 

"Why,  of  course  not,"  answered  Denver,  "it'll 
advertise  the  district  and  bring  in  some  outside 
people.  And  now  that  I've  got  another  stake  I'm 
going  to  sack  my  ore  and  make  a  trial  shipment  to 
the  smelter.  But  you  bet  your  boots,  after  what 
Murray  put  over  on  me,  I'm  going  to  have  some 
assaying  done  first." 

"Yes,  and  keep  some  samples,"  advised  Bunker 
wisely.  "Keep  a  sample  out  of  every  bag." 

"I'll  just  mix  that  ore  up,"  said  Denver  cautiously, 
"and  cut  it  down,  the  way  they  do  at  the  mill. 
Throw  out  every  tenth  shovel  and  mix  'em  up 
again  and  then  cut  the  pile  down  smaller  until  you've 
got  a  control,  like  the  ore  brokers  take  at  the 
smelter.  And  then  I'll  send  a  sample  to  the  assayer 
— say,  there's  Drusilla  over  there,  trying  to  call 
you." 

"She's  trying  to  call  you,"  answered  Bunker  Hill 
shortly  and  went  on  into  the  store. 

"Well,  be  sure  and  order  that  powder,"  shouted 
Denver  after  him.  "And  say,  I'll  want  the  rest  of 
those  ore-sacks." 

"All  right,"  replied  Bunker  and  Denver  turned 
to  the  house  where  Drusilla  was  waiting  on  the 
porch. 

"Did  you  hear  the  news?"  she  asked  dancing 


-    THE  HEART  OF  HIS  BELOVED      203 

ecstatically  to  and  fro;  as  if  she  were  a  Delilah, 
leading  the  Philistine  maidens  in  the  "Spring  Song/' 
and  he  were  another  Samson.  "I'm  expecting  to  go 
East  now,  soon." 

"Good"  exclaimed  Denver.  "Well,  I  won't  see 
you  much  then — I'm  going  to  work  in  the  mine." 

"Yes,  isn't  it  grand?"  she  cried.  "Everything  is 
coming  out  fine — but  you  must  come  down  to  dinner 
to-night.  I'm  going  to  sing,  just  for  you." 

'Til  be  there,"  smiled  Denver,  and  then  he 
stopped.  "But  let's  not  make  it  to-night,"  he  said, 
"I'm  dead  on  my  feet  for  sleep." 

"Well,  sleep  then,"  she  laughed,  "and  get  rested 
from  your  contest — I'm  awfully  glad  you  won. 
And  then " 

"Nope,  can't  come  to-night,"  he  answered  soberly, 
"I  want  to  get  that  ore  sacked  to-day.  And  I'm 
stiff  as  a  strip  of  burnt  raw-hide." 

"Well,  to-morrow  night,"  she  said,  "unless  you 
don't  want  to  come.  But  you'll  have  to  come  soon 
or " 

"Oh,  I  want  to  come,  all  right,"  interposed  Den 
ver  hastily,  "you  know  that,  without  telling.  But 
my  partner  played  out  on  me  before  the  end  of  the 
contest  and  I  had  to  finish  the  striking  myself.  And 
then  I  rode  hard  to  get  back  here,  before  Dave  or 
some  gun-man  jumped  my  claim." 

"Then  to-morrow  night,"  she  smiled,  "but  don't 
you  forget,  because  if  you  do  I'll  never  forgive 
you." 

She  danced  away  into  the  house  and  Denver 


204  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

turned  in  his  tracks  and  went  to  look  Over  his 
ore-sacks.  They  were  old  and  torn,  what  was  left 
of  a  big  lot  that  Bunker  had  got  in  a  trade;  but 
Denver  picked  out  the  best  and  wheeled  them  up 
to  his  dump,  where  his  picked  ore  lay  waiting  for 
shipment.  He  had  a  big  lot,  much  larger  than  he 
had  thought,  and  it  was  just  as  it  had  been  shot 
down  from  the  breast.  Some  was  silver-lead;  and 
there  was  copper  to  boot,  though  that  would  hardly 
do  to  ship.  Yet  at  thirty  cents  a  pound  copper  was 
almost  a  precious  metal,  and  a  report  from  the 
smelter  would  be  a  check.  He  would  know  from 
that  how  the  ore  really  ran  and  how  much  he  would 
be  penalized  for  the  zinc.  So  he  picked  out  the 
best  of  it  and  broke  it  up  fine,  for  the  rough  chunks 
would  not  do  to  sack;  and  before  he  had  more  than 
got  started  with  his  sampling  the  sun  had  gone  down 
behind  the  ridge.  And  he  was  tired — too  tired  to 
eat. 

There  was  music  that  night  at  the  big  house  be 
low  but  Denver  could  not  hold  up  his  head.  Nature 
had  drugged  him  with  sleep,  like  a  romping  child 
that  takes  no  thought  of  its  strength,  and  in  the 
morning  he  woke  up  in  a  sort  of  stupor  that  could 
not  be  worked  off.  Yet  he  worked,  worked  hard, 
for  McGraw  had  arrived  and  the  ore  must  be  loaded 
that  day ;  so  they  threw  in  together,  Denver  sacking 
the  heavy  ore  and  McGraw  wheeling  it  out  to  the 
wagon.  They  toiled  on  till  dark,  for  McGraw 
started  early  and  the  work  could  not  be  put  off  till 
to-morrow ;  and  when  it  was  over  Denver  staggered 


THE  HEART  OF  HIS  BELOVED      205 

up  to  his  cave  like  an  old  and  outworn  man.  He 
was  reeking  with  sweat,  his  hands  were  like  talons, 
the  ore-dust  had  left  his  face  gray;  and  all  he 
thought  of  was  sleep.  For  a  moment  he  roused  up, 
as  if  he  remembered  some  new  duty — something 
pleasant,  yet  involving  further  effort — and  then  his 
candle  went  out.  He  fell  asleep  in  his  chair  and 
when  he  awoke  it  was  only  to  stumble  to  his  bed. 

The  sun  was  over  the  Leap  when  he  opened  his 
heavy  eyes  and  gazed  at  the  rude  squalor  of  his 
cave.  The  dishes  were  unwashed,  the  floor  was 
dirty,  a  long- tailed  rat  hung  balanced  on  the 
table-edge — and  he  was  tired,  tired,  tired.  He 
heaved  himself  up  and  reached  for  the  water-bucket 
but  he  had  forgotten  to  fill  it  at  the  creek.  Now 
he  grabbed  it  up  impatiently  and  started  down  the 
trail,  every  joint  of  his  body  protesting,  and  when 
he  had  climbed  back  he  was  weak  from  the  effort 
— his  bank  account  with  Mother  Nature  was  over 
drawn.  He  was  worn  out,  at  last;  and  his  poor, 
tired  brain  took  no  thought  how  to  make  up  the 
deficit.  All  he  wanted  was  rest,  something  to  eat, 
a  drink  of  water.  A  drink  of  water  anyway,  and 
sleep.  He  drank  deep  and  bathed  his  face,  then 
sank  back  on  the  bed  and  let  the  world  whirl  on. 

It  was  late  in  the  day  when  he  awoke  again  and 
hunger  was  gnawing  his  vitals ;  but  the  slow  stupor 
was  gone,  he  was  himself  again  and  the  cramps 
had  gone  out  of  his  limbs.  He  rose  up  luxuriously 
and  cut  a  can  of  tomatoes,  drinking  the  juice  and 
eating  the  fruit,  and  then  he  lit  a  fire  and  boiled 


206  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

some  strong  coffee  and  cooked  up  a  great  mess  of 
food.  There  was  two  cans  of  corn  and  a  can  of 
corned  beef,  heated  together  in  a  swimming  sea 
of  bacon  grease  and  eaten  direct  from  the  frying- 
pan.  It  went  to  the  spot  and  his  drooping  shoulders 
straightened,  the  spring  came  back  into  his  step; 
yet  as  he  cleaned  up  the  dishes  and  changed  to 
decent  clothes  the  weight  of  some  duty  seemed  to 
haunt  him.  Was  it  McGraw?  No,  he  had  loaded 
the  last  sack  and  sent  him  on  his  way.  It  was 
Drusilla — she  had  been  going  to  sing  for  him. 

Denver  stepped  to  the  door  and  looked  down  at 
the  house  and  his  heart  sank  low  at  the  thought. 
They  had  invited  him  to  dinner  and  he  had  forgotten 
to  come,  he  had  gone  home  and  fallen  asleep.  And 
no  one  had  come  to  call  him — or  to  inquire  what 
had  kept  him  away.  A  heavy  guilt  came  over  him 
as  he  gazed  down  at  the  house  with  its  broad  porch 
and  trailing  Virginia  creepers,  the  Hills  would  take 
it  very  ill  to  have  their  invitation  ignored.  Old 
Bunk  had  told  him  the  time  before,  when  he  had 
invited  him  in  to  dinner:  "Now,  for  the  last  time, 

Denver "  and  it  would  take  more  than  mere 

words  to  ever  mend  that  breach.  Denver  paced 
back  and  forth,  undecided  what  to  do,  and  at  last 
he  decided  to  do  nothing.  As  the  sun  went  down 
he  ate  another  supper  and  drugged  his  sorrows  with 
sleep. 

The  next  morning  he  rose  early  and  shaved  and 
bathed  and  put  on  his  last  clean  shirt,  and  then 
he  walked  down  to  the  town;  but  the  store  was 


THE  HEART  OF  HIS  BELOVED      207 

locked,  there  was  no  voices  from  the  house,  only 
a  smoke  from  the  kitchen  stove.  He  went  on  to 
his  mine  and  looked  it  over,  and  as  he  passed  the 
Professor  leered  out  at  him;  there  was  something 
that  he  knew,  some  bad  news  or  spiteful  gossip, 
for  he  found  pleasure  only  in  evil.  Denver  came 
back  down  the  street,  that  was  now  as  deserted  as 
it  had  been  before  the  stampede,  and  once  more  the 
Professor  looked  out. 

"Veil,"  he  said,  "so  you  haf  lost  your  sveet- 
heart!"  And  he  chuckled  and  shut  the  door  softly. 

Denver  stopped  and  stood  staring,  hardly  credit 
ing  the  news,  yet  conscious  of  the  sinister  exulting. 
The  Professor  was  glad,  therefore  the  news  was 
bad;  but  what  did  he  mean  by  those  words?  Had 
Drusilla  gone  away  or  had  she  thrown  him  over 
for  neglecting  to  keep  his  engagement?  She  had 
probably  spoken  her  mind  as  she  watched  for  him 
at  the  door-way  and  the  Professor  had  been  out 
there,  eavesdropping. 

"What  are  you  talking  about  T"  he  demanded  at 
last  but  the  Professor  only  tittered.  Then  he 
dropped  the  heavy  bar  across  his  door  and  Denver 
took  the  hint  to  move  on.  He  went  down  past  the 
house  and  looked  it  over  hopefully,  but  as  no  one 
came  out  he  pocketed  his  pride  and  knocked,  like 
a  hobo  battering  the  door  for  a  meal.  Mrs.  Hill 
came  out  slowly  as  if  preoccupied  with  other  things, 
but  when  he  saw  her  eyes  he  knew  she  had  been 
crying  and  that  Drusilla  had  really  gone. 

"I'm  sorry/'  he  began  and  then  he  stopped;  there 


2o8  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

was  nothing  that  he  could  say.  "Has  Drusilla 
gone?"  he  asked  at  length  and  Mrs.  Hill  answered 
him,  almost  kindly. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "she  was  summoned  by  a 
telegram.  Her  father  took  her  down  this  morning." 

He  stood  thinking  a  minute,  then  he  shook  his 
head  regretfully  and  started  off  down  the  steps. 

"She  was  sorry  not  to  have  seen  you,"  she  added 
gently  but  Denver  made  no  reply.  He  was  weak 
again  now  and  inadequate  to  life;  he  could  only 
crawl  back  like  some  dumb,  wounded  animal,  to  the 
sheltering  gloom  of  his  cave.  But  as  he  sat  there 
stolidly,  now  trying  to  make  some  plan,  now  en 
deavoring  to  become  reconciled  to  his  fate,  a  rage 
swept  over  him  like  a  storm-wind  that  shakes  a 
tree  and  he  burst  into  gusty  oaths.  The  fates  had 
turned  against  him,  his  horoscope  had  come  to  noth 
ing;  he  had  followed  the  admonitions  of  Mother 
Trigedgo  and  this  was  the  result  of  her  advice.  She 
had  told  him  to  beware  how  he  revealed  his  affec 
tion,  but  nothing  about  what  to  do  when  he  had 
fallen  asleep  while  his  beloved  sang  only  for  him. 

He  drew  out  the  Oraculum,  by  which  the  Man 
of  Destiny  had  ordered  the  least  affairs  of  his  life, 
and  read  down  through  the  thirty-two  questions. 
Only  once  on  each  day  could  he  consult  the  mystic 
oracle,  and  once  only  in  each  month  on  the  same 
subject,  lest  the  fates  be  outworn  by  his  insistence. 
At  first  it  was  Number  Thirteen  that  appealed  to  his 
fancy : 

"Will  the  FRIEND  I  most  reckon  upon  prove 


THE  HEART  OF  HIS  BELOVED      209 

faithful  or  TREACHEROUS?'*  But  he  knew 
without  asking  that,  whatever  her  failings,  Drusilla 
would  never  prove  treacherous.  No,  since  he  had 
taken  her  for  his  friend  he  would  never  question 
her  faithfulness;  Number  Twenty-six  was  more  to 
his  liking: 

"Does  the  person  whom  I  love,  LOVE  and  re 
gard  me?" 

He  spread  out  a  sheet  of  paper  on  his  littered 
table  and  dashed  off  the  five  series  of  lines,  and 
then  he  counted  each  carefully  and  made  the  dots 
at  the  end — two  dots  for  the  two  lines  that  came 
even  and  one  for  those  that  came  odd.  The  first 
two  came  odd,  the  next  two  even,  the  last  one  odd 
again;  and  under  that  symbol  the  Oraculum  Key 
referred  him  to  section  B  for  his  answer.  He 
turned  to  the  double  pages  with  its  answers,  good 
and  bad,  and  his  brain  whirled  while  he  read  these 
words : 

'Thy  heart  of  thy  beloved  yearneth  toward  thee," 

He  closed  the  book  religiously  and  put  it  away, 
and  his  heart  for  the  moment  was  comforted 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

COLONEL   DODGE 

DENVER  doubted  it,  himself,  for  human  nature 
is  much  the  same  in  man  and  woman  and 
Drusilla  had  been  sorely  slighted ;  but  the  Oraculum 
had  said  that  her  heart  was  yearning  towards  him 
and  the  Book  of  Fate  had  always  spoken  true. 
Perhaps  women  were  different,  but  if  it  had  been 
done  to  him,  he  would  have  called  down  black  curses 
instead.  Yet  women  were  different,  one  could 
never  guess  their  moods,  and  perhaps  Drusilla 
would  forgive  him.  Not  right  away,  of  course,  but 
after  her  blood  had  cooled  and  he  had  written  a 
proper  letter.  He  would  let  it  go  awhile,  until  he 
had  framed  up  some  excuse  or  decided  to  tell  her 
the  truth,  and  in  the  meantime  there  was  plenty  of 
work  to  do  that  would  help  him  forget  his  sorrow. 
There  was  his  mine,  and  McGraw  had  brought  up 
some  powder. 

There  was  something  in  the  air  which  seemed 
to  whisper  to  Denver  of  portentous  happenings  to 
come,  and  as  he  was  sharpening  up  his  steel  for 
a  fresh  assault  upon  the  ore-body  a  big  automobile 
came  into  town.  It  stopped  and  a  big  man  wearing 
a  California  sombrero  and  a  pair  of  six-buckle  boots 

2IO 


COLONEL  DODGE  211 

leapt  out  and  led  the  way  to  the  Lost  Burro.  Be 
hind  him  followed  three  men  attired  as  gentlemen 
miners  and  as  Denver  listened  he  could  hear  the 
big  man  as  he  recited  the  history  of  the  mine.  Un 
doubtedly  it  was  the  buyer  of  the  Lost  Burro  Mine, 
with  a  party  of  "experts"  and  potential  backers 
who  had  come  up  to  look  over  the  ground;  yet 
something  told  Denver  that  there  was  more  behind 
it  all.  He  felt  their  eyes  upon  him.  They  spent 
a  few  minutes  looking  over  the  old  workings,  and 
then  they  came  stringing  up  his  trail. 

"Good  afternoon,  sir,"  hailed  the  promoter,  "are 
you  the  owner  of  this  property?  Well,  I'd  like  with 
your  permission  to  show  my  friends  some  of  your 
ore — why,  what's  this,  have  you  hauled  it  away?" 

"Yes,  I  shipped  it  out  yesterday,"  answered  Den 
ver  briefly  and  the  big  man  glanced  swiftly  at  his 
friends. 

"Well,  I'm  Colonel  Dodge — H.  Parkinson  Dodge 
— you  may  have  heard  the  name.  I'm  your  neigh 
bor  here  on  the  south — we've  taken  over  the  Lost 
Burro  property.  Yes,  glad  to  know  you,  Mr.  Rus 
sell."  He  shook  hands  and  introduced  his  friends 
all  around,  after  which  he  came  to  the  point. 
"We've  been  looking  at  the  Lost  Burro  and  one 
of  the  gentlemen  suggested  that  it  might  be  well 
to  enlarge  our  property.  That  would  make  it  more 
attractive  to  worth-while  buyers  and  at  the  same 
time  prevent  any  future  litigation  in  case  our  ore- 
bodies  should  join.  You  understand  what  I  mean 
• — there's  such  a  thing  as  apex  decision  and  of 


2i2  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

course  you  hold  the  higher  ground.  Well,  before 
we  do  any  work  or  tie  up  our  money  we  would 
like  to  know  just  exactly  where  we  stand  in  relation 
to  surrounding  properties.  What  price  do  you  put 
on  your  claim?" 

"No  price,"  answered  Denver.  "I  don't  want  to 
sell.  Are  you  thinking  of  opening  up  the  Lost 
Burro?" 

"That  will  all  depend,"  hinted  the  Colonel  darkly, 
"upon  the  attitude  of  the  people  in  the  district.  If 
we  meet  with  encouragement  we  intend  to  form  a 
company  and  spend  hundreds  of  thousands  of  dol 
lars;  but  if  not,  why  we  will  charge  up  our  option 
money  to  profit  and  loss  and  seek  out  a  less  backward 
community.  What  is  your  lowest  price  on  your 
claim?" 

"A  million  dollars — cash,"  responded  Denver 
cheerfully.  "Now  you  come  through  and  make  me 
an  offer." 

"Well,"  began  the  Colonel,  and  then  he  stopped 
and  glanced  suggestively  at  the  tunnel.  "We'd  like 
to  look  it  over  first." 

"Fair  enough,"  replied  Denver  and,  giving  each 
a  candle,  he  led  them  into  the  tunnel.  They  looked 
the  ore  over,  making  indifferent  comments  and  ask 
ing  permission  to  take  samples,  and  then  Colonel 
Dodge  took  one  of  his  experts  aside  and  they  con 
ferred  in  muffled  tones. 

"Er — we'd  rather  not  make  an  offer  just  now," 
said  the  Colonel  at  last;  and  in  a  silent  procession 
they  returned  to  the  daylight,  leaving  Denver  to 


COLONEL  DODGE 

follow  behind.  The  atmosphere  of  the  group  was 
now  reeking  with  gloom  but  after  a  long  conference 
the  Colonel  came  back,  summoning  up  the  ghost  of 
a  smile.  "Well,  I'll  tell  you,  Mr.  Russell,"  he  began 
apologetically,  "we  saw  some  of  your  ore  before 
we  came  up  and  we  were  all  of  us  most  enthu 
siastic.  The  copper  in  particular  was  very  promis 
ing  but  the  gentleman  I  was  talking  with  is  our 
consulting  engineer  and  he  advises  me  not  to  buy 
the  property." 

"All  right,"  answered  Denver,  "you  don't  have 
to  buy  it.  I  never  saw  one  of  these  six-buckle  men 
yet  that  wouldn't  knock  a  good  claim."  He  turned 
back  angrily  to  his  job  of  tool-sharpening  and  the 
Colonel  followed  after  him  solicitously. 

"Don't  misunderstand  me,"  he  said,  "there's 
nothing  I'd  like  better  than  to  buy  in  this  neighbor 
ing  property — if  I  could  get  it  at  a  reasonable  figure ; 
but  Mr.  Shadd  advises  me  that  your  ore  lies  in  a 
gash-vein,  which  will  undoubtedly  pinch  out  at 
depth." 

"A  gash-vein!"  echoed  Denver,  "why  the  poor, 
ignorant  fool — can't  you  see  that  the  vein  is  get 
ting  bigger  ?  Well,  how  can  it  be  a  gash-vein  when 
it's  between  two  good  walls  and  increasing  in  width 
all  the  time?  Your  friend  must  think  I'm  a 
prospector." 

"Oh,  no,"  protested  the  Colonel  smiling  feebly 
at  the  joke,  "but — well,  he  advises  me  not  to  buy. 
The  fact  that  the  ore  is  so  rich  on  the  surface  is 
against  its  continuance  at  depth.  All  gash-veins,  as 


2i4  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

you  know,  are  very  rich  at  the  surface;  so  in  this 
case  the  fact  is  against  you.  But  I  tell  you  what 
I  will  do — just  to  protect  my  other  property  and 
avoid  any  future  complications — I'll  give  you  a 
thousand  dollars  for  your  claim." 

"Whooo!"  jeered  Denver,  "I'll  get  more  than 
that  for  the  ore  I  just  sent  to  the  smelter.  No,  I'm 
no  thousand-dollar  man,  Mr.  Dodge.  I've  got  a 
fissure  vein  and  it's  increasing  at  depth,  so  I  guess 
I'll  just  hold  on  a  while.  You  wait  till  old  Murray 
begins  to  ship !" 

"Ah — er — well,  I'll  give  you  fifteen  hundred," 
conceded  the  Colonel  drawing  out  his  check-book 
and  pen.  "That's  the  best  I  can  possibly  do." 

"Well  save  your  check  then,  because  I'm  a  long 
ways  from  broke.  What  d'ye  think  of  that  for  a 
roll?"  Denver  drew  out  his  roll  of  prize  money, 
with  a  hundred  dollar  bill  on  top,  and  flickered  the 
edges  of  the  twenties.  "I  guess  I  can  wait  a  while," 
he  grinned.  "Come  around  again,  when  I'm  broke." 

"I'll  give  you  a  thousand  dollars  down  and  nine 
thousand  in  six  months,"  burst  out  the  Colonel  with 
sudden  vehemence.  "Now  it's  that  or  absolutely 
nothing.  If  you  try  to  hold  me  up  I'll  abandon 
my  option  and  withdraw  entirely  from  the  district." 

"Sorry  to  lose  you,  old-timer,"  returned  Denver 
genially,  "but  I  guess  we  can't  do  business.  Come 
around  in  about  a  month." 

A  sudden  flash  came  into  the  Colonel's  bold  eyes 
and  he  opened  his  mouth  to  speak — then  he  paused 
and  shut  his  mouth  tight. 


COLONEL  DODGE  215 

"Not  on  your  life,  Mr.  Russell/'  he  said  with 
finality,  "if  I  go  I  will  not  come  back.  Now  give 
me  your  lowest  cash  price  for  the  property.  Will 
you  accept  ten  thousand  dollars?" 

"No,  I  won't/*  answered  Denver,  "nor  a  hundred 
thousand,  either.  I'm  a  miner — I  know  what  I've 
got." 

"Very  well,  Mr.  Russell,"  replied  Colonel  Dodge 
crisply  and,  bowing  haughtily,  he  withdrew. 

Denver  looked  after  him  laughing,  but  something 
about  his  stride  suddenly  wiped  away  the  grin  from 
Denver's  face — the  Colonel  was  going  somewhere. 
He  was  going  with  a  purpose,  and  he  walked  like 
a  man  who  was  perfectly  sure  of  his  next  move — 
like  a  man  who  has  seen  a  snake  in  the  road  and 
turns  back  to  cut  a  club.  It  was  distinctly  threaten 
ing  and  a  light  dawned  on  Denver  when  the  auto 
mobile  turned  off  towards  Murray's  camp.  That 
was  it,  he  was  an  agent  of  Murray. 

Denver  sharpened  up  his  steel  and  put  in  a  round 
of  holes  but  all  that  day  and  the  next  his  uneasiness 
grew  until  he  jumped  at  every  sound.  He  felt  the 
hostility  of  Colonel  Dodge's  silence  more  than  any 
that  words  could  express ;  and  when,  on  the  second 
day,  he  saw  Professor  Diffenderfer  approaching  he 
stopped  his  work  to  watch  him. 

"Veil,  how  are  you?"  began  the  Professor,  try 
ing  to  warm  up  their  ancient  friendship;  and  then, 
seeing  that  Denver  merely  bristled  the  more,  he 
cast  off  his  cloak  of  well-wishing.  "I  vas  yoost 


216  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

over  to  Murray's  camp,"  he  burst  out  vindictively, 
"and  Dave  said  he  vanted  his  gun." 

"Tell  'im  to  come  over  and  get  it,"  suggested 
Denver  and  then  he  unbuckled  his  belt.  "All  right," 
he  said  handing  over  the  gun  and  cartridges,  "here 
it  is;  I  don't  need  it,  anyhow."  The  Professor 
blinked  and  looked  again,  then  reached  out  and  took 
the  belt  doubtfully. 

"Vot  you  mean?"  he  asked  at  kst  as  his  curiosity 
got  the  better  of  him,  "have  you  got  anudder  gun 
somevhere?  Dot  Dave,  he  svears  he  vill  kill  you." 

"That's  all  right,"  replied  Denver,  "just  give  him 
his  gun — I'll  take  him  on  any  day,  with  rocks." 

"How  you  mean  'take  him  on?'"  inquired  the 
Professor  all  excitement  but  Denver  waved  him 
away. 

"Go  on  now,"  he  said,  "and  give  him  his  gun. 
I  guess  he'll  know  what  I  mean." 

But  if  Chatwourth  understood  the  hidden  taunt 
he  did  not  respond  to  the  challenge  and  Denver's 
mind  reverted  to  H.  Parkinson  Dodge  and  his 
flattering  offers  for  the  mine.  Ten  thousand 
dollars  cash,  from  a  mining  promoter,  was  indeed 
a  princely  sum ;  better  by  far  than  the  offer  of  half 
a  million  shares  that  went  with  Bunker's  option. 
For  stock  is  the  sop  that  is  thrown  to  poor  miners 
in  lieu  of  the  good  hard  cash,  but  ten  thousand 
dollars  was  a  lot  of  money  for  a  promoter  to  pay 
for  a  claim.  It  showed  that  there  were  others  be 
side  himself  who  believed  in  the  value  of  his  prop 
erty,  yet  who  this  Colonel  Dodge  was  or  who  were 


COLONEL  DODGE  217 

his  backers  was  a  question  that  only  Bunker  could 
answer.  Denver  waited  in  a  sweat,  now  wondering 
if  Bunker  would  speak  to  him,  nor  exulting  in  the 
offer  for  his  mine ;  and  when  at  last  he  saw  Bunker 
Hill  drive  in  he  threw  down  his  tools  and  hurried 
towards  him. 

But  Bunker  Hill  was  surly,  he  barely  glanced  at 
Denver  and  went  on  caring  for  his  horses;  and 
Denver  did  not  crowd  him.  He  waited,  and  at 
last  Old  Bunk  looked  up  with  jaw  thrust  grimly 
out. 

"Well?"  he  said,  and  Denver  forgot  everything 
but  the  question  that  was  on  his  tongue. 

"Say,"  he  burst  out,  "who  is  this  Colonel  Dodge 
that  came  up  and  bought  your  mine?  Is  he  working 
for  Murray,  or  what  ?" 

"Search  me,"  grumbled  Bunker,  "I  got  his  thou 
sand  dollars,  and  that's  about  all  I  know." 

"He  was  up  here  to  see  me  the  same  day  you 
left,  with  a  whole  load  of  six-buckle  experts;  and 
say,  he  offered  me  a  check  for  ten  thousand  dollars 
if  I'd  sell  him  the  Silver  Treasure  claim.  And  when 
I  refused  it  he  got  into  his  machine  and  went  right 
over  to  Murray's.  I'll  bet  you  you're  sold  out  to 
Bible-Back." 

"Well,  he's  stuck  then,"  said  Bunker.  "I  guess 
you  haven't  heard  the  news — Murray's  closed  down 
his  camp  for  good." 

"He  has !"  exclaimed  Denver,  and  then  he  laughed 
heartily.  "He's  a  foxy  old  dastard,  isn't  he?" 

"You  said  it,"  returned  Bunker.  "Never  did  have 


2i8  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

any  ore.  Just  pretended  he  had  in  order  to  sell 
stock  and  recoup  what  he'd  lost  on  the  drilling. 
They're  offering  the  stock  for  nothing." 

"Who's  offering  it?"  demanded  Denver  suddenly 
taking  the  matter  seriously.  "I'll  bet  you  it's  noth 
ing  but  a  fake!" 

"All  right,"  shrugged  Bunker,  "but  I  met  a  bunch 
of  miners  and  they  were  swapping  stock  for 
matches.  Old  Tom  Buchanan  down  at  Desert  Wells 
won't  accept  it  at  any  price — that  shows  how  much 
it's  a  fake." 

"Aw,  he  pulled  that  once  before,"  answered  Den 
ver  contemptuously,  "but  he  don't  fool  me  again. 
Like  as  not  he's  made  a  strike  and  is  just  shutting 
down  so  he  can  buy  back  the  stock  he  sold." 

Bunker  looked  up  and  grunted,  then  gathered  to 
gether  his  purchases  and  ambled  off  towards  the 
house. 

"That's  all  you  think  about,  ain't  it?"  he  said  at 
parting.  "I'll  mention  it  when  I  write  to  Drusilla." 

"Oh — oh,  yes,"  stammered  Denver  suddenly  re 
minded  of  his  dereliction,  "say,  how  did  she  happen 
to  go?  And  I  want  to  get  her  address  so  I  can 
explain  how  it  happened — I  wouldn't  have  missed 
seeing  her  for  anything!" 

"No,  of  course  not,"  growled  Bunker,  "not  for 
anything  but  your  own  interests.  You  can  go  to 
hell  for  your  address." 

"Why,  what  do  you  mean?"  demanded  Denver; 
but  as  Bunker  did  not  answer  he  fell  back  and  let 
him  go  on. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE  ANSWER 

'TpHERE  are  some  kinds  of  questions  which  re- 
A  quire  no  answers  and  others  which  answer 
themselves.  Denver  had  asked  Bunker  what  he 
meant  when  he  refused  Drusilla's  address  and  in 
timated  that  he  was  unworthy  of  her  friendship, 
but  after  a  gloomy  hour  in  the  deepening  twilight 
the  question  answered  itself.  Bunker  had  taken  his 
daughter  across  the  desert,  on  her  way  to  the  train 
and  New  York,  and  his  curt  remarks  were  but  the 
reflex  of  her's  as  she  discussed  Denver's  many 
transgressions.  He  thought  more  of  mines  and  of 
his  own  selfish  interests  than  he  did  of  her  and  her 
art,  and  so  she  desired  to  hear  no  more  of  him  or  his 
protestations  of  innocence.  That  was  what  the 
words  meant  and  as  Denver  thought  them  over  he 
wondered  if  it  was  not  true. 

Drusilla  had  greeted  him  cordially  when  he  had 
returned  from  Globe  and  had  invited  him  to  dinner 
that  same  night,  but  he  had  refused  because  he 
needed  the  sleep  and  begrudged  the  daylight  to  take 
it.  And  the  next  day  he  had  worked  even  harder 
than  before  and  had  forgotten  her  invitation  en 
tirely.  She  was  to  sing  just  for  him  and,  after 

219 


220  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

i 

the  singing,  she  would  have  told  him  all  her  plans ; 
and  then  perhaps  they  might  have  spoken  of  other 
things  and  parted  as  lovers  should.  But  no,  he  had 
spoiled  it  by  his  senseless  hurry  in  getting  his  ore 
off  with  McGraw;  and  now,  with  all  the  time  in 
the  world  on  his  hands,  the  valley  below  was  silent. 
Not  a  scale,  not  a  trill,  not  a  run  or  roulade;  only 
silence  and  the  frogs  with  their  devilish  insistence, 
their  ceaseless  eh,  eh,  eh.  He  rose  up  and  heav.ed 
a  stone  into  the  creek-bed  below,  then  went  in  and 
turned  on  his  phonograph. 

They  were  real  people  to  him  now,  these  great 
artists  of  the  discs;  Drusilla  had  described  them  as 
she  listened  to  the  records  and  even  the  places  where 
they  sang.  She  had  pictured  the  mighty  sweep  of 
the  Metropolitan  with  its  horse-shoe  of  glittering 
boxes;  the  balconies  above  and  the  standing-room 
below  where  the  poor  art-students  gathered  to  ap 
plaud;  and  he  had  said  that  when  he  was  rich  he 
would  subscribe  for  a  box  and  come  there  just  to 
hear  her  sing.  And  now  he  was  broke,  and  Drusilla 
was  going  East  to  run  the  perilous  gauntlet  of  the 
tenors.  He  jerked  up  the  stylus  in  the  middle  of 
a  record  and  cursed  his  besotted  industry.  If  he 
had  let  his  ore  go,  and  gone  to  see  her  like  a  gentle 
man,  Drusilla  might  even  now  be  his.  She  might 
have  relented  and  given  him  a  kiss — he  cursed  and 
stumbled  blindly  to  bed. 

In  the  morning  he  went  to  work  in  the  close 
air  of  the  tunnel,  which  sadly  needed  a  fan,  and 
then  he  hurled  his  hammer  to  the  ground  and  felt 


THE  ANSWER  221 

his  way  out  to  daylight.  What  was  the  use  of 
it  all;  where  did  it  get  him  to,  anyway;  this  cease 
less,  grinding  toil  ?  Murray's  camp  had  shut  down, 
the  promoters  had  vanished,  Final  was  deader  than 
ever;  he  gathered  up  his  tools  and  stored  them  in 
his  cave,  then  sat  down  to  write  her  a  letter.  Noth 
ing  less  than  the  truth  would  win  her  back  now 
and  he  confessed  his  shortcomings  humbly;  after 
which  he  told  her  that  the  town  was  too  lonely 
and  he  was  leaving,  too.  He  sealed  it  in  an  envelope 
and  addressed  it  with  her  name  and  when  he  was 
sure  that  Old  Bunk  was  not  looking  he  slipped  in 
and  gave  it  to  her  mother. 

"I'm  going  away,"  he  said,  "and  I  may  not  be 
back.  Will  you  send  that  on  to  Drusilla?" 

"Yes,"  she  smiled  and  hid  it  in  her  dress;  but 
as  he  started  for  the  door  she  stopped  him. 

"You  might  like  to  know/'  she  said,  "that 
Drusilla  has  received  an  engagement.  She  is  sub 
stitute  soprano  in  a  new  Opera  Company  that  is 
being  organized  to  tour  the  big  cities.  I'm  sorry 
you  didn't  see  her." 

"Yes,"  answered  Denver,  "I'm  sorry  myself — 
but  that  never  bought  a  man  anything.  Just  send 
her  the  letter  and — well,  goodby." 

He  blundered  out  the  door  and  down  the  steps, 
and  there  stretched  the  road  before  him.  In  the 
evening  he  was  as  far  as  Whitlow's  Well  and  a 
great  weight  seemed  lifted  from  his  breast.  He  was 
free  again,  free  to  wander  where  he  pleased,  free 
to  make  friends  with  any  that  he  met — for  if  the 


222  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

prophecy  was  not  true  in  regard  to  his  mine  it  was 
not  true  regarding  his  friends.  And  how  could  any 
woman,  by  cutting  a  pack  of  cards  and  consulting 
the  signs  of  the  zodiac,  predict  how  a  man  would 
die?  Denver  made  himself  at  home  with  a  party 
of  hobo  miners  who  had  come  in  from  the  railroad 
below,  and  that  night  they  sat  up  late,  cracking 
jokes  and  telling  stories  of  every  big  camp  in  the 
West.  It  was  the  old  life  again,  the  life  that  he 
knew  and  loved,  drifting  on  from  camp  to  camp 
with  every  man  his  friend.  Yet  as  he  stretched  out 
that  night  by  the  flickering  fire  he  almost  regretted 
the  change.  He  was  free  from  the  great  fear,  free 
to  make  friends  with  whom  he  would ;  but,  to  win 
back  the  love  of  the  beautiful  young  artist,  he  would 
have  given  up  his  freedom  without  a  sigh. 

His  sleep  that  night  was  broken  by  strange 
dreams  and  by  an  automobile  that  went  thundering 
by,  and  in  the  morning  as  they  cooked  a  mulligan 
together  he  saw  two  great  motor  trucks  go  past. 
They  were  loaded  with  men  and  headed  up  the 
canyon  and  Denver  began  to  look  wild.  A  third 
machine  appeared  and  he  went  out  to  flag  it  but 
the  driver  went  by  without  stopping;  and  so  did 
another,  and  another.  He  rushed  after  the  next 
one  and  caught  it  on  the  hill  but  the  men  pushed 
him  roughly  from  the  running  board.  They  were 
armed  and  he  knew  by  their  hard-bitten  faces  that 
it  was  another  party  of  jumpers. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  he  yelled  but  they  left 
him  by  the  road  without  even  a  curse  for  an  an- 


THE  ANSWER  223 

swer.  Well,  he  knew  then;  they  were  going  to 
Final,  and  Murray  had  fooled  him  again.  Denver 
had  suspected  from  the  first  that  Murray's  shut 
down  was  a  ruse,  to  shake  down  the  public  for  their 
stock;  and  now  he  knew  it,  and  that  if  his  mine 
was  jumped  again  it  would  be  held  against  all 
comers.  Another  automobile  whirled  by;  and  then 
came  men  that  he  knew,  the  miners  who  owned 
claims  in  the  district. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  called  but  they  would 
not  stop  to  talk,  simply  shouted  and  beckoned  him 
on.  Denver  started,  right  then,  without  stopping 
for  breakfast  or  to  pick  up  his  hobo's  pack;  and 
soon  he  caught  a  ride  with  a  party  of  prospectors 
whose  claims  he  had  once  freed  from  jumpers. 

"It's  a  big  strike!"  they  clamored,  hauling  him  in 
and  rushing  on.  "Old  Murray  struck  copper  in  his 
tunnel!  Rich?  Hell,  yes!"  And  they  gave  him  all 
the  details  as  the  machine  lurched  along  up  the 
road. 

Murray  had  struck  another  ore-body,  entirely 
different  from  the  first  one — the  copper  had  come 
out  the  drill-holes  like  pure  metal — and  then  he 
had  shut  down  and  rushed  the  machine-men  away 
before  they  could  tell  of  the  strike.  But  they  had 
got  loose  down  in  Moroni  and  showed  the  drill- 
dust  and  every  man  that  saw  it  had  piled  into  his 
machine  and  joined  the  rush  for  Murray's. 

"Jumped  again!"  muttered  Denver  and  when  he 
arrived  in  Final  he  found  his  mine  swarming  with 
men.  They  had  built  a  barricade  and  run  a  pipe 


SILVER  AND  GOLD 

line  down  the  hill  to  pump  up  water  from  the  creek, 
and  when  he  appeared  they  ordered  him  off  with 
out  showing  so  much  as  a  head.  And  he  went,  for 
the  swiftness  of  the  change  had  confused  him;  he 
was  whipped  before  he  began.  There  was  no  use 
to  fight  or  to  put  up  a  bluff,  the  men  behind  the 
wall  were  determined ;  and  while,  according  to  law, 
they  held  no  title  the  law  was  far  away.  It  was 
a  weapon  for  rich  men  who  could  afford  to  pay 
the  price;  but  how  could  he,  a  poor  man,  hope 
to  win  back  his  claim  when  it  was  held  by  Bible- 
Back  Murray?  He  went  down  to  the  store,  where 
the  Miners'  Meeting  was  assembled,  and  beckoned 
Bunker  aside. 

"Mr.  Hill,"  he  said,  "you  promised  me  one  time 
to  give  me  the  loan  of  a  gun.  Well,  now  is  the  time 
I  need  it." 

"Nope,"  warned  Bunker,  "you  ain't  got  a  chance. 
Them  fellers  are  just  up  here  to  get  you." 

"Well,  for  self-defense!"  protested  Denver, 
"Dave  sent  word  he'd  kill  me." 

"Keep  away,  then,"  advised  Bunker,  "don't  give 
him  no  chance.  But  if  them  fellers  should  jump 
on  you,  just  run  to  my  house  and  I'll  slip  you  the 
old  Injun-tamer." 

Denver  went  out  on  the  street,  now  swarming 
with  traffic,  and  looked  up  toward  his  mine;  and 
as  he  gazed  he  walked  up  closer  until  he  stopped 
at  the  fork  of  the  trails.  The  men  behind  the  wall 
were  watching  him  grimly,  without  letting  their 
faces  be  seen;  but  as  he  stood  there  looking  they 


THE  ANSWER  225 

began  to  bandy  jests  and  presently  to  taunt  him 
openly.  But  Denver  did  not  answer,  for  he  divined 
their  evil  purpose,  and  at  last  he  turned  quietly 
away. 

"Hey!  Come  back  here!"  roared  a  voice  and 
Denver  whirled  in  his  tracks  for  he  knew  it  was 
Slogger  Meacham's.  He  was  standing  there  now, 
looking  across  the  barricade,  and  as  Denver  met  his 
gaze  he  laughed. 

"Ho!  Ho!'*  he  rumbled  folding  his  arms  across 
his  breast  and  thrusting  out  his  huge  black  mustache. 
"Well,  how  do  you  feel  about  it  now?" 

"Never  mind,"  returned  Denver  and,  leaving  him 
gloating,  he  hurried  away  down  the  trail.  Old 
Bunk  was  right,  they  had  come  there  to  get  him, 
and  there  was  no  use  playing  into  their  hands ;  yet 
at  thought  of  Slogger  Meacham  his  hair  began  to 
bristle  and  he  muttered  half-formed  threats.  The 
Slogger  had  come  to  get  him — and  Dave  Chat- 
wourth  was  behind  there,  too — the  whole  district 
was  dominated  by  their  gang;  but  the  times  would 
change  and  with  inrush  of  other  men  the  jumpers 
would  soon  be  out-numbered.  It  was  better  then 
to  wait,  to  let  the  excitement  die  down  and  law  and 
order  return ;  and  then,  with  a  deputy  sheriff  at  his 
back,  he  could  eject  them  by  due  process  of  law. 
The  claim  was  his,  his  papers  were  recorded  and 
no  lawyer  could  question  their  validity — no,  the  best 
thing  was  to  let  the  jumpers  rage,  to  say  nothing 
and  keep  out  of  sight.  That  was  all  that  he  had 
to  do. 


226  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

But  to  avoid  them  was  not  so  easy,  for  as  the 
day  wore  on  and  no  attempt  was  made  to  oust  them, 
the  jumpers  walked  boldly  into  town.  At  first  it 
was  Chatwourth,  to  buy  some  tobacco  and  break 
in  on  the  Miners'  Meeting;  and  then  Slogger 
Meacham,  a  huge  mountain  of  a  man,  came  ambling 
down  the  street.  He  slouched  down  on  the  store 
platform  and  leered  about  him  evilly,  but  Denver 
had  retreated  to  his  cave  under  the  cliff  and  the 
Slogger  returned  to  the  mine.  Then  they  came 
down  in  a  body,  Chatwourth  and  Meacham  and  all 
the  jumpers;  but  though  his  mine  was  left  open 
Denver  refrained  from  going  near  it,  for  their  pur 
pose  was  becoming  very  plain.  They  were  trying 
to  inveigle  him  into  openly  opposing  them,  after 
which  they  would  have  a  pretext  for  resorting  to 
actual  violence.  But  their  plans  went  no  further 
for  he  remained  in  retirement  and  the  Miners'  Meet 
ing  adjourned.  Soon  the  street  was  deserted,  except 
for  their  own  numbers,  and  they  returned  to  the 
mine  with  shrill  whoops. 

From  his  lookout  above  Denver  watched  them 
with  a  smile,  for  his  nerve  had  come  back  to  him 
now.  Now  that  Murray  had  made  his  strike,  and 
increased  the  value  of  the  Silver  Treasure  by  a 
thousand  per  cent  over  night.  Denver's  mind  had 
swun^  back  like  a  needle  to  the  pole  to  his  former 
belief  in  the  prophecy.  He  had  doubted  it  twice 
and  renounced  it  twice,  but  each  time  as  if  by  an 
act  of  Providence  he  was  rebuked  for  his  lack  of 
faith.  Now  he  knew  it  was  so — that  the  mine 


THE  ANSWER  227 

would  be  restored  and  that  only  his  dearest  friend 
could  kill  him.  So  he  smiled  almost  pityingly  at 
the  loud-mouthed  jumpers  and  went  boldly  down 
the  trail. 

The  hush  of  evening  was  in  the  air  when  he 
knocked  at  Bunker  Hill's  door  and  after  a  look 
about  Old  Bunk  went  back  into  the  house  and 
brought  out  a  heavy  pistol.  It  was  an  old-fashioned 
six-shooter  of  the  Indian- tamer  type — a  single 
action,  wooden-handled  forty-five — and  Bunker 
fingered  it  lovingly  as  he  handed  it  over  to  Denver. 

"For  self-defense,  understand,"  he  said  beneath 
his  breath,  "and  look  out,  that  bunch  is  sure 
ranicky." 

"Much  obliged,"  responded  Denver  and  tested 
the  action  before  he  slipped  the  gun  in  its  belt.  He 
was  starting  for  his  cave  when  from  his  cabin 
up  the  street  the  Professor  came  out  and  beckoned 
him. 

"What  do  you  want?"  called  Denver;  then,  re 
ceiving  no  answer,  he  strode  impatiently  up  the 
street. 

"Come  in,"  urged  the  Professor  touching  his  nose 
for  secrecy,  "come  in,  I  vant  to  show  you  some- 
t'ing." 

"Well,  show  it  to  me  here,"  answered  Denver 
but  the  Professor  drew  him  inside  the  house. 

"You  look  oudt  vat  you  do,"  he  warned  mys 
teriously,  "dem  joompers  are  liable  to  see  you." 

"I  should  worry,"  said  Denver  and,  whipping  out 


228  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

the  gun,  he  made  the  motions  of  fanning  the 
hammer. 

"Now,  now,"  reproved  Diffenderfer  drawing  back 
in  a  panic ;  and  then  he  laughed,  but  nervously. 

"Well,  what  do  you  want  to  show  me?"  demanded 
Denver  bluntly.  "Hurry  up  now — I  hear  some 
body  coming." 

"Oh,  nutting — come  again!"  exclaimed  the 
Professor  apprehensively.  "Come  to-morrow — I 
show  you  everyt'ing!" 

"You'll  show  me  now,"  returned  Denver  imper- 
turbably,  "I'm  not  af raid  of  the  whole  danged  bunch. 
Come  on,  what  have  you  got — a  bottle  ?" 

"Yoost  a  piece  of  copper  from  Murray's  tunnel 
— Mein  Gott,  I  hear  dem  boys  coming !" 

He  sprang  to  the  door  and  dropped  the  heavy 
bar  but  Denver  struck  it  up  and  stepped  out. 

"What  the  hell  are  you  trying  to  do?"  he  de 
manded  suspiciously  and  the  door  slammed  to  be 
hind  him. 

"Run!  Run!"  implored  the  Professor  staring 
out  through  his  peep-hole  but  Denver  lolled  negli 
gently  against  the  house.  A  crowd  of  men,  headed 
by  Slogger  Meacham,  were  coming  down  the  street ; 
but  it  was  not  for  him  to  fly.  He  had  a  gun  now, 
as  well  as  they,  and  his  back  was  against  the  wall. 
They  could  pass  by  or  stop,  according  to  their  lik 
ing;  but  the  show-down  had  come,  there  and  now. 

They  came  on  in  a  bunch  down  the  middle  of  the 
street,  ignoring  his  watchful  glances;  but  as  the  rest 


THE  ANSWER  229 

trampled  past  Slogger  Meacham  turned  his  head 
and  came  to  a  bristling  halt. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "out  for  a  little  airing?"  And 
the  jumpers  swung  in  behind  him. 

"Yes,"  answered  Denver  regarding  him  incuri 
ously  and  the  Slogger  moved  a  step  or  two  closer. 

"You  start  anything  around  here,"  he  went  on 
significantly,  "and  you'll  be  airing  the  smoke  out 
of  your  clothes.  We  got  your  number,  see,  and 
we're  here  to  put  your  light  out  if  you  start  to  make 
a  peep." 

"Is  that  so?"  observed  Denver  still  standing  at 
a  crouch  and  one  or  two  of  the  men  walked  off. 

"Come  on,  boys,"  they  said  but  Meacham  stood 
glowering  and  Chatwourth  stepped  out  in  front  of 
him.  "I  hear,"  he  said  to  Denver,  "that  you've 
been  making  your  brag  that  you  kin  whip  me  with 
a  handful  of  stones." 

"Never  mind,  now,"  replied  Denver,  "I'm  not 
looking  for  trouble.  You  go  on  and  leave  me 
alone." 

"I'll  go  when  I  damned  please!"  cried  Chat 
wourth  in  a  passion  and  as  he  advanced  on  Denver 
the  crowd  behind  him  suddenly  gave  a  concerted 
shove.  Denver  saw  the  surge  coming  and  stepped 
aside  to  avoid  it,  undetermined  whether  to  strike 
out  or  shoot;  but  as  he  was  slipping  away  Slogger 
Meacham  made  a  rush  and  struck  him  a  quick  blow 
in  the  neck.  He  whirled  and  struck  back  at  him, 
the  air  was  full  of  fists  and  guns,  swung  like  clubs 
to  rap  him  on  the  head;  and  then  he  went  down 


23o  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

with  Meacham  on  top  of  him  and  a  crashing  blow 
ringing  in  his  ears.  When  he  came  to  his  senses 
he  was  stripped  and  mauled  and  battered,  and  a 
stranger  stood  over  him  with  a  gun. 

"You're  my  prisoner/'  he  said  and  Denver  sat 
up  startled. 

"Why — what's  the  matter?"  he  asked  looking 
about  at  the  crowd  that  had  gathered  on  the  scene 
of  the  fight,  "what's  the  matter  with  that  jasper 
over  there?" 

"He's  dead— that's  all,"  answered  the  officer 
laughing  shortly,  "you  hit  him  over  the  head  with 
this  gun." 

"I  did  not!"  burst  out  Denver,  "I  never  even 
drew  it.  Say,  who  is  that  fellow,  anyway?" 

"Name  was  Meacham,"  returned  the  officer, 
"come  on." 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE    COURSE    OF    THE    LAW 

AS  he  lay  in  his  cell  in  the  county  jail  at  Moroni 
it  was  borne  in  upon  Denver  that  he  was 
caught  in  some  great  machine  that  ground  out  men 
as  a  mill  grinds  grain.  It  had  laid  a  cold  hand 
on  him  in  the  person  of  an  officer  of  the  law,  it 
had  inched  him  on  further  when  a  magistrate  had 
examined  him  and  Chatwourth  and  his  jumpers  had 
testified;  and  now,  as  he  awaited  his  day  in  court, 
he  wondered  whither  it  was  taking  him.  The 
magistrate  had  held  him,  the  grand  jury  had  in 
dicted  him — would  the  judge  and  jury  find  him 
guilty?  And  if  so,  would  they  send  him  to  the 
Pen?  His  heart  sank  at  that,  for  the  name  of  "ex- 
convict"  is  something  that  cannot  be  laid.  No  mat 
ter  what  the  crime  or  the  circumstances  of  the  trial, 
once  a  man  is  convicted  and  sent  to  prison  that 
name  can  always  be  hurled  at  him — and  Denver 
knew  that  he  was  not  guilty. 

He  had  no  recollection  of  even  drawing  his  gun, 
to  say  nothing  of  striking  at  Meacham;  and  yet 
Chatwourth  and  his  gang  would  swear  him  into 
prison  if  something  was  not  done  to  stop  them. 
They  had  come  before  the  magistrate  all  agreeing 

231 


23 2  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

to  the  same  story — that  Denver  had  picked  a  fight 
with  his  old  enemy,  Meacham,  and  struck  him  over 
the  head  with  his  six-shooter.  And  then  they 
showed  Denver's  pistol,  the  one  he  had  borrowed 
from  Bunker,  all  gory  with  hair  and  blood.  It  was 
a  frame-up  and  he  knew  it,  for  they  had  all  been 
striking  at  him  and  one  of  them  had  probably  hit 
Meacham ;  but  how  was  he  to  prove  to  the  satisfac 
tion  of  the  court  that  Murray's  hired  gun-men  were 
trying  to  hang  him  ?  His  only  possible  witness  was 
Professor  Diffenderfer,  and  he  would  not  testify 
to  anything. 

In  his  examination  before  the  magistrate  Denver 
had  called  upon  the  Professor  to  explain  the  cause 
of  his  being  there;  but  Diffenderfer  had  protested 
that  he  had  been  hiding  in  his  cabin  and  knew  noth 
ing  whatever  about  the  fight.  Yet  if  the  facts  could 
De  proved,  Denver  had  not  gone  up  the  street  to 
shoot  it  out  with  the  jumpers;  he  had  gone  at  the 
invitation  of  this  same  Professor  Diffenderfer  who 
now  so  carefully  avoided  his  eye.  He  had  been 
called  to  the  Professor's  cabin  to  look  at  a  specimen 
of  the  copper  from  Murray's  tunnel;  but  as  Denver 
thought  it  over  a  shrewd  suspicion  came  over  him 
that  he  had  been  lured  into  a  well-planned  trap. 
They  had  never  been  over-friendly  so  why  should 
this  Dutchman,  after  opposing  him  at  every  turn, 
suddenly  beckon  him  up  the  street  and  into  his 
cabin  just  as  Chatwourth  and  his  gang  came  down? 
And  why,  if  he  was  innocent  of  any  share  in  the 
plot,  did  Diffenderfer  refuse  to  testify  to  the  facts? 


THE  COURSE  OF  THE  LAW         233 

Denver  ground  his  teeth  at  the  thought  of  his  own 
impotence,  shut  up  there  like  a  dog  in  the  pound. 
He  was  helpless,  and  his  lawyer  would  do  nothing. 

The  first  thing  he  had  done  when  he  was  brought 
to  Moroni  was  to  hire  a  second-rate  lawyer  but, 
after  getting  his  money,  the  gentleman  had  spent 
his  time  in  preparing  some  windy  brief.  What  Den 
ver  needed  was  some  witnesses,  to  swear  to  his 
good  character,  and  Diffenderfer  to  swear  to  the 
facts;  and  no  points  of  law  were  going  to  make 
a  difference  as  long  as  the  truth  was  suppressed. 
Old  Bunk  alone  stood  by  him,  though  he  could  do 
little  besides  testifying  to  his  previous  good  char 
acter.  Day  after  day  Denver  lay  in  jail  and  sweated, 
trying  to  find  some  possible  way  out ;  but  not  until  the 
morning  before  his  trial  did  he  sense  the  real  mean 
ing  of  it  all.  Then  a  visitor  was  announced  and 
when  he  came  to  the  bars  he  found  Bible-Back 
Murray  awaiting  him. 

"Good  morning,  young  man/'  began  Murray 
smiling  grimly,  "I  was  just  passing  by  and  I  thought 
I'd  drop  in  and  talk  over  your  case  for  a  moment." 

"Yes?"  said  Denver  looking  out  at  him  dubiously, 
and  the  great  man  smiled  again.  He  was  a  great 
man,  as  Denver  had  discovered  to  his  sorrow,  for 
no  one  in  the  country  dared  oppose  him. 

"I  regret  very  much,"  went  on  Murray  pom 
pously,  "to  find  you  in  this  position,  and  if  there's 
anything  I  can  do  that  is  just  and  right  I  shall 
be  glad  to  use  my  influence.  We  have,  as  you  know, 
here  in  the  State  of  Arizona  one  of  the  most  en- 


234  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

lightened  governments  in  the  country;  and  a  word 
from  me,  if  spoken  in  time,  might  possibly  save 
you  from  conviction.  Or,  in  case  of  conviction, 
our  prison  law  is  such  that  you  might  immediately 
be  released  under  parole.  But  before  I  take  any 

action "  he  lowered  his  voice — "you  might  give 

me  a  quit-claim  for  that  mine." 

"Oh"  said  Denver,  and  then  it  was  that  the  great 
ray  of  light  came  over  him.  He  could  see  it  all 
now,  from  Murray's  first  warning  to  this  last  bold 
demand  for  his  mine;  but  two  months  in  jail  had 
broken  his  spirit  and  he  hesitated  to  defy  the  county 
boss.  His  might  be  the  hand  that  held  Diffenderfer 
back,  and  it  certainly  was  the  one  that  paid  Chat- 
wourth;  he  controlled  the  county  and,  if  what  he 
said  was  true,  had  no  small  influence  in  the  affairs 
of  the  state.  And  now  he  gave  him  the  choice  be 
tween  going  to  prison  or  giving  up  the  Silver 
Treasure. 

"What  is  this?"  inquired  Denver,  "a  hold-up  or 
a  frame-up?" 

"I  don't  know  what  you're  talking  about,"  an 
swered  Murray  curtly,  "but  if  you're  still  in  a  mood 

for  levity "  He  turned  away  but  as  Denver 

did  not  stop  him  he  returned  of  his  own  will  to 
the  bars. 

"Now  see  here,"  he  said,  "this  has  gone  far 
enough,  if  you  expect  to  keep  out  of  prison.  I  came 
down  here  to  befriend  you  and  all  I  ask  in  return 
is  a  clear  title  to  what  is  already  mine.  Perhaps 
you  don't  realize  the  seriousness  of  your  position, 


THE   COURSE   OF  THE   LAW         235 

but  I  tell  you  right  now  that  no  power  on  earth 
can  save  you  from  certain  conviction.  The  Dis 
trict  Attorney  has  informed  me  that  he  has  an  air 
tight  case  against  you  but,  rather  than  see  your 
whole  life  ruined,  I  am  giving  you  this  one,  last 
chance.  You  are  young  and  headstrong,  and  hardly 
realized  what  you  were  doing;  and  so  I  say,  why 
not  acknowledge  your  mistake  and  begin  life  over 
again?  I  have  nothing  but  the  kindest  feelings  to 
wards  you,  but  I  can't  allow  my  interests  to  be 
jeopardized.  Think  it  over — can't  you  see  it's  for 
the  best?" 

"No,  I  can't,"  answered  Denver,  "because  I  never 
killed  Meacham  and  I  dont  believe  any  jury  will 
convict  me.  If  they  do,  I'll  know  who  was  behind 
it  all  and  govern  myself  accordingly." 

"Just  a  slight  correction,"  put  in  Murray  sar 
castically,  "you  will  not  govern  yourself  at  all.  You 
will  become  a  ward  of  the  State  of  Arizona  for  the 
rest  of  your  natural  life." 

"Well,  that's  all  right  then  "  burst  out  Denver, 
wrath  fully,  "but  I  can  tell  you  one  thing — you  won't 
get  no  quit-claim  for  your  mine.  I'll  lay  in  jail 
and  rot  before  I'll  come  through  with  it,  so  you 
can  go  as  far  as  you  like.  But  if  I  ever  get 
out " 

"That  will  do,  young  man,"  said  Murray  stepping 
back,  "I  see  you're  becoming  abusive.  Very  well, 
let  the  law  take  its  course." 

He  straightened  up  his  wry  neck,  put  his  glass 
eye  into  place  and  stalked  angrily  out  of  the  jail; 


236  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

and  in  the  hard  week  that  followed  Denver  learned 
what  he  meant,  for  the  wheels  of  the  law  began 
to  grind.  First  the  District  Attorney,  in  making 
his  charge,  denounced  him  like  a  mad-man;  then 
he  brought  on  his  witnesses,  a  solid  phalanx,  and 
put  them  through  their  parts;  and  every  point  of 
law  that  Denver's  attorney  brought  up  he  tore  it 
to  pieces  in  an  instant.  He  knew  more  law  in  a 
minute  than  the  lawyer  would  learn  in  a  life-time, 
he  could  think  circles  around  him  and  not  try;  and 
when  Denver's  witnesses  were  placed  on  the  stand 
he  cross-examined  them  until  he  nullified  their  testi 
mony.  Even  grim-eyed  Bunker  Hill,  after  testify 
ing  to  Denver's  character,  was  compelled  to  admit 
that  the  first  time  he  saw  him  he  was  engaged  in 
a  fight  with  Meacham.  And  so  it  went  on  until  the 
jury  filed  back  with  a  verdict  of  "Guilty  of  man 
slaughter." 

Thus  the  law  took  its  course  over  the  body  and 
soul  of  what  had  once  been  a  man;  and  when  it 
was  over  Denver  Russell  was  a  Number  with  eigh 
teen  years  before  him.  Eighteen  years  more  or 
less,  according  to  his  conduct,  for  the  laws  of  the 
State  of  Arizona  imposed  an  indeterminate  sentence 
which  might  be  varied  to  fit  any  case.  As  Murray 
had  intimated,  under  the  new  prison  law  a  man 
could  be  paroled  the  day  after  he  was  sentenced, 
though  he  were  in  for  ninety-nine  years.  That  was 
the  law,  and  it  was  just,  for  no  court  is  infallible 
and  injustice  must  be  rectified  somewhere.  After 
the  poor  man  and  his  poor  lawyer  had  matched 


THE  COURSE  OF  THE  LAW         237 

their  puny  wits  against  those  of  a  fighting  District 
Attorney  then  mercy  must  intervene  in  the  name 
of  society  and  equalize  the  sentence.  For  the  Dis 
trict  Attorney  is  hired  by  the  county  to  send  every 
man  to  prison,  but  no  one  is  hired  to  defend  the 
innocent  or  to  balance  the  scales  of  justice. 

Denver  went  to  prison  like  any  other  prisoner, 
a  rebel  against  society;  but  after  a  lonely  day  in 
his  cell  he  rose  up  and  looked  about  him.  Here 
were  men  like  himself — nay,  old,  hardened  crim 
inals — walking  about  in  civilian  clothes,  and  the 
gates  opened  up  before  them.  They  passed  out  of 
the  walled  yard  and  into  the  prison  fields  where 
there  were  cattle  and  growing  crops ;  and  they  came 
back  fresh  and  earthy,  after  hours  of  honest  toil 
with  no  one  to  watch  or  guard  them.  It  was  the 
honor  system  which  he  had  read  about  for  years, 
but  now  he  saw  it  working;  and  after  a  week  he 
sent  word  to  the  Warden  that  he  would  give  his 
word  not  to  escape.  That  was  all  they  asked  of 
him,  his  word  as  a  man;  and  a  great  hope  came 
over  him  and  soothed  the  deep  wound  that  the  mer 
ciless  law  had  torn.  He  raised  his  head,  that  had 
been  bowed  on  his  breast,  and  the  strength  came 
back  into  his  limbs;  and  when  the  Warden  saw 
him  with  a  sledge-hammer  in  his  hands  he  smiled 
and  sent  him  up  to  the  road-camp. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

LIKE  A  HOG  ON  ICE 

A  MONTH  had  wrought  great  changes  in  the 
life  of  Denver  Russell,  raising  him  up  from 
a  prisoner,  locked  up  like  a  mad  dog,  to  the  boss 
of  a  gang  of  road-makers.  He  was  free  again,  as 
far  as  bolts  and  bars  were  concerned;  all  that  kept 
him  to  his  place  was  the  word  he  had  given  and 
his  pride  as  an  honest  man.  And  now  he  was  out, 
doing  an  honest  man's  work  and  building  a  highway 
for  the  state;  and  by  the  irony  of  fate  the  road  he 
was  improving  was  the  one  that  led  to  Final.  For 
time  had  wrought  other  changes  while  he  lay  in 
prison  and  the  rough  road  up  the  canyon  was 
swarming  with  traffic  going  and  coming  from 
Murray's  camp.  It  was  called  "Murray"  now,  and 
a  narrow-gauge  railroad  was  being  rushed  to  haul 
out  the  ore.  Teams  and  motor  trucks  swung  by, 
hauling  in  timbers  and  machinery,  auto  stages  came 
and  went  like  the  wind;  and  old  Mike  McGraw, 
who  had  hauled  all  the  freight  for  years,  looked  on 
in  wonder  and  awe. 

Yes,  Murray  was  a  live  camp,  a  copper  camp 
with  millions  of  dollars  behind  it;  and  Bible-Back 
himself  was  a  king  indeed,  for  he  had  tapped  the 

238 


LIKE  A  HOG  ON  ICE  239 

rich  body  of  ore.  It  was  his  courage  and  aggres 
siveness  that  had  made  the  camp,  and  the  papers 
all  sounded  his  praise;  but  still  he  was  not  satisfied 
and  as  he  passed  by  Denver  Russell  he  glanced  at 
him  almost  appealingly.  Here  was  a  man  he  had 
broken  in  order  to  get  his  way,  and  his  efforts 
had  come  to  nothing;  for  the  Silver  Treasure  lay 
idle,  waiting  the  clearing  of  its  title  before  the 
work  could  go  on.  And  Denver  Russell,  swinging 
his  double- jack  on  a  drill,  never  once  returned  the 
glance.  He  was  stiff-necked  and  stubborn,  though 
Murray  had  sent  intermediaries  and  practically 
promised  to  get  him  a  parole. 

A  legal  point  had  come  up,  after  Denver  had 
been  imprisoned,  which  Murray  had  failed  to  fore 
see;  the  fact  that  a  convict  is  legally  dead  until  he 
has  served  his  term.  He  cannot  transfer  property 
or  enter  into  a  contract  or  transact  any  business 
whatever — nor,  on  the  other  hand,  can  his  mining 
claims  be  jumped.  As  a  ward  of  the  State  his 
property  is  held  in  trust  until  his  term  has  expired. 
Then  he  gains  back  his  identity,  if  not  his  citizen 
ship;  and  with  the  passing  of  his  number  and  the 
resumption  of  his  name  he  can  enter  into  contracts 
once  more.  Murray's  lawver  had  known  all  this, 
but  Murray  had  not:  and  w^n  he  suep^ted  a  suit 
to  quiet  title  to  the  Silver  Treasure  old  Bible-Back 
received  a  great  blow.  After  all  his  efforts  he 
found  himself  balked — his  work  must  even  be  un 
done.  Denver  Russell  must  be  pardoned,  or  at 
least  paroled,  and  as  the  price  of  his  freedom  he 


24o  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

must  give  his  word  not  to  contest  the  title  to  his 
mine.  No  papers  would  be  necessary,  in  fact  they 
would  not  be  legal;  but  if  his  word  would  prevent 
him  from  escaping  from  the  road-camp  it  would 
keep  him  from  claiming  his  mine. 

Murray  attended  to  the  matter  himself,  for  he 
was  in  a  fever  to  begin  work;  and  then  Denver 
Russell  struck  back — he  refused  to  apply  for  parole. 
Though  he  was  pleasant  and  amenable,  never  break 
ing  the  prison  rules  and  holding  his  gang  to  their 
duty,  when  the  kindly  parole  clerk  offered  to 
present  his  case  to  the  Board  he  had  flatly  and 
unconditionally  refused.  The  smouldering  fire  of 
his  resentment  had  blazed  up  and  overmastered  him 
as  he  sensed  the  hidden  hand  of  his  enemy,  and 
he  had  cursed  the  black  name  of  Murray.  That 
was  the  beginning,  and  now  when  Murray  passed, 
his  glance  was  almost  beseeching.  The  price  of 
silver  was  going  up,  there  were  consolidation  plans 
in  sight,  and  Denver's  claim  apexed  all  the  rest — 
Murray  pocketed  his  pride  and,  after  a  word  with 
the  guard,  drew  Denver  out  of  hearing  of  the  gang. 

"Mr.  Russell,"  he  said  trying  to  appear  mag 
nanimous,  "that  offer  of  mine  holds  good.  I'll 
get  you  a  parole  to-morrow  if  you'll  give  me  a 
quit-claim  to  your  claim." 

"How  can  I  give  you  a  quit-claim?"  inquired 
Denver  defiantly,  "a  convict  can't  give  title  to  any 
thing!" 

"Just  give  me  your  word  then,"  suggested  Mur 
ray  suavely  and  Denver  laughed  in  his  face. 


LIKE  A  HOG  ON  ICE  241 

"You  glass-eyed  old  dastard,"  he  burst  out  con 
temptuously,  "I  know  what  you're  up  to,  too  well. 
You're  trying  to  get  me  paroled  so  you  can  take 
my  mine  away  from  me  and  I  won't  dare  to  raise 
a  hand.  But  I'll  fool  you,  old-timer;  I'll  just  serve 
my  term  out  and  then — well,  I'll  get  back  my  mine." 

"Is  that  a  threat?"  demanded  Murray  but  Den 
ver  only  smiled  and  toyed  with  his  heavy  hammer. 
"Because  if  it  is,"  went  on  Murray,  "just  for  self- 
protection,  I'll  see  that  you  don't  get  out." 

"No,  it  isn't  a  threat,"  answered  Denver  quietly. 
"If  I  wanted  to  kill  you  I'd  swing  this  sledge  and 
knock  you  on  the  head,  right  now.  No,  I  don't 
intend  to  kill  you;  but  a  man  would  be  a  sucker  to 
play  right  into  your  hands." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Murray  trying  to 
argue  the  matter,  but  Denver  refused  to  indulge 
him. 

"Never  mind,"  he  said,  "you  railroaded  me  to 
the  Pen',  but  by  grab  you  can't  get  me  out.  I'll 
just  show  you  I'm  as  independent  as  a  hog  on  ice 
— if  I  can't  stand  up  I'll  lay  down." 

"Then  you  intend,  just  to  spite  me,  to  remain 
on  in  prison  when  you  might  be  a  free  man  to 
morrow?  I  can't  believe  that — it  doesn't  seem 
reasonable." 

"Well,  I  can't  stand  here  talking,"  answered 
Denver  impatiently  and  went  off  and  left  him 
staring. 

It  certainly  was  unbelievable  that  any  reasoning 
creature  should  prefer  confinement  and  disgrace  to 


242  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

freedom,  but  the  iron  had  burned  deep  into  Den 
ver's  soul  and  his  one  desire  now  was  revenge.  He 
had  been  deprived  of  his  property  and  branded  a 
convict  by  this  man  who  boasted  of  his  powers; 
but,  like  a  thrown  mule,  if  he  could  not  have  his 
way  he  could  at  least  refuse  to  get  up.  He  was 
down  and  out;  but  by  a  miracle  of  Providence,  a 
hitch  in  the  wording  of  the  law,  the  slave-driver 
Murray  could  not  proceed  with  his  chariot  until  this 
balky  mule  got  up.  Denver  knew  his  rights  as  a 
prisoner  of  the  state  and  his  status  before  the  law; 
and  bowed  his  head  and  took  the  beating  stub 
bornly,  punishing  himself  a  hundred  times  over  to 
thwart  his  enemy's  plans.  As  he  worked  on  the 
road  old  friends  ca~e  bv  and  tri^d  to  argue  him 
out  of  his  mood,  even  Bunker  Hill  suggested  a 
compromise;  but  he  only  listened  sulkily,  a  slow 
smile  on  his  lips,  a  gleam  of  smouldering  hatred  in 
his  eyes. 

So  the  winter  passed  by  and  as  spring  came  on 
the  road-gang  drew  near  to  Murray.  From  the 
hills  above  their  camp  Denver  could  see  the  dumps 
and  hoists,  and  the  mill  that  was  going  up  below, 
and  as  the  ore-trains  glided  by  on  the  newly  finished 
narrow-gauge  he  picked  up  samples  of  the  copper. 
It  was  the  same  as  his  vein,  a  brassy  yellow  chal- 
copyrtes  with  chunks  of  red  native  copper,  and  he 
forgot  the  daily  heart-ache  and  the  ignominy  of  his 
task  PS  he  contemplated  the  wealth  that  awaited 
him.  Yes,  the  mine  was  still  his,  though  he  was 
herded  with  common  felons  and  compelled  to  build 


LIKE  A  HOG  ON  ICE  243 

a  road  for  Murray;  it  was  his  and  the  law  would 
protect  him,  the  same  law  that  had  sent  him  to 
prison.  And  he  was  a  prisoner  by  choice  now 
for  both  the  warden  and  the  parole  clerk  had  re 
commended  him  heartily  for  parole. 

They  treated  him  like  a  friend,  like  a  big,  wrong- 
headed  boy  who  was  still  sound  and  good  at  heart; 
and  he  knew  that  when  he  went  to  them  and  applied 
for  a  parole  they  would  recommend  it  at  once  to 
the  Board.  But  he  was  playing  a  deep  game,  one 
that  had  come  to  him  suddenly  when  Murray  had 
suggested  a  parole,  for  by  refusing  to  accept  his 
freedom  he  made  the  state  his  guardian  and  the 
receiver  of  his  coveted  property.  It  was  safe,  and 
he  could  wait;  and  when  the  time  was  ripe  he 
could  apply  to  the  Governor  for  a  pardon.  A 
pardon  would  remove  the  taint  of  dishonor  and 
restore  him  to  honest  citizenship ;  but  a  paroled  man 
was  known  for  an  ex-con  everywhere — he  might 
as  well  be  back  in  the  road-gang.  Yet  it  was  hard 
on  his  pride  when  the  automobiles  rushed  past  and 
the  passengers  looked  back  and  stared,  it  was  hard 
to  have  the  guard  always  watching  the  gang  for 
fear  that  some  crook  might  decamp;  and  only  the 
thought  that  he  was  working  out  his  destiny  gave 
him  courage  to  play  out  his  hand. 

But  how  wonderfully  had  the  prophecy  of 
Mother  Trigedgo  been  justified  by  the  course  of 
events!  Not  a  year  before  he  had  come  over  the 
Globe  trail  in  pursuit  of  Slogger  Meacham,  and  had 
discovered  the  Place  of  Death.  It  rose  before  him 


244  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

now,  a  solid  black  wall,  and  within  its  shadow  lay 
the  mine  of  the  prophecy,  the  precious  Silver 
Treasure.  He  had  chosen  the  silver  treasure,  and 
the  yellow  chalcopyrites  had  added  its  wealth  of 
copper.  And  now  he  but  awaited  the  end  of  his 
long  ordeal  and  the  reward  of  his  courage  and  con 
stancy.  Both  the  silver  and  gold  treasures  were 
destined  to  be  his;  and  Drusilla — but  there  he 
paused.  Old  Bunk  had  avoided  him,  Drusilla  had 
not  written;  yet  he  had  been  careful  not  to  reveal 
his  affection.  Not  once  had  he  asked  for  her,  only 
once  had  he  written;  yet  perhaps  that  one  letter 
had  defeated  him.  He  had  acknowledged  his  love, 
humbly  admitted  his  faults,  and  begged  her  to  try 
to  forgive  him.  Even  that  might  have  cost  him 
her  love. 

The  spring  came  on  warmer,  all  the  palo  verde 
trees  burst  out  in  masses  of  brilliant  yellow,  the 
mezquites  hung  out  tassels  of  golden  fuzz  and  the 
giant  cactus  donned  its  crown  of  orange  blossoms. 
Even  the  iron-woods  flaunted  bloom  and  the  barren, 
sandy  washes  turned  green  with  six-weeks  grass.  It 
was  a  time  when  rabbits  gamboled,  when  mocking 
birds  sang  by  moonlight  and  all  the  world  turned 
young.  Denver  chafed  at  his  confinement,  one  of 
his  Mexicans  broke  his  parole,  the  hobo  miners  went 
swinging  past;  and  just  as  the  last  of  his  courage 
was  waning  Bunker  Hill  came  riding  down  the 
road.  He  was  on  his  big  bay,  yet  not  out  after  cat- 
tie — he  was  coming  straight  towards  him.  Denver 
caught  his  breath,  and  waited. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

PAROLE 

',  Denver,"  said  Bunker  Hill,  "here's 
a  letter  that  come  for  you — I   forgot  to 
send  it  down." 

He  fumbled  in  his  pocket  and  Denver's  heart 
stood  still,  but  it  was  only  his  check  from  the 
smelter.  He  slipped  it  into  his  shirt  without  even 
glancing  at  the  big  total  and  looked  up  at  Bunker 
expectantly. 

"Well?"  he  prompted  and  Old  Bunk  twisted  in 
the  saddle  before  he  began  to  talk. 

"How  much  did  you  get  for  your  shipment?" 
he  inquired  but  Denver  shrugged  impatiently. 

"What  do  I  give  a  damn?"  he  demanded. 
"What's  up?  What  you  got  on  your  mind?" 

"Big  stuff,"  replied  Bunker,  "but  I  want  you  to 
listen  to  me — they's  no  use  running  off  at  the  head." 

"Who's  running  off  at  the  head?  Go  on  and 
shoot  your  wad.  Is  it  something  about  my  mine?" 

"Yes — and  mine,"  answered  Bunker.  "I  don't 
know  whether  you  know  it,  but  your  property 
apexes  the  Lost  Burro.  And  another  thing,  silver 
has  gone  up.  But  Final  is  just  as  dead  as  it  was 
a  year  ago,  The  whole  camp  is  waiting  on  you." 

245 


246  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

"Well,  what  do  you  want  me  to  do?  Get  a 
parole  and  give  Murray  my  mine?" 

"No,  just  get  a  parole — and  then  we'll  get  you  a 
pardon.  I'll  tell  you,  Denver,  the  Dutchman  has 
begun  to  talk  and  it  seems  he  saw  your  fight.  He's 
told  several  people  that  you  never  pulled  your  gun, 
just  struck  out  at  the  crowd  with  your  fists.  And 
if  hints  and  winks  count  for  anything  with  him 
he  knows  who  it  was  that  killed  Meacham.  He  says 
he  was  hit  from  behind.  I've  tried  everything, 
Denver,  to  make  that  Dutchman  talk  or  put  some 
thing  down  on  paper;  but  he's  scared  so  bad  of 
Murray,  and  mebbe  of  his  gun-men,  that  he  won't 
say  a  word,  unless  he's  drunk.  Now  here's  the 
proposition — old  Murray  has  had  you  railroaded, 
and  he's  sure  going  to  squeeze  you  until  you  let  go 
of  that  claim.  Why  not  sell  out  for  a  good  price, 
if  he'll  make  the  Professor  talk  and  help  get  you 
a  pardon  from  the  Governor?  You  know  the 
Governor,  he'll  pardon  most  anybody,  but  you've 
got  to  give  him  some  excuse.  Well,  the  Professor 
has  got  the  evidence  to  get  you  out  to-morrow — if 
Murray  will  just  tell  him  to  talk." 

"What  d'ye  call  a  good  price?"  inquired  Denver 
suspiciously.  "Did  Murray  put  you  up  to  this?" 

"No!"  snapped  Bunker,  "but  he  named  ten  thou 
sand  dollars  as  the  most  he  could  possibly  give.  He 
owns  the  Colonel  Dodge's  interest  in  the  Lost  Burro 
Mining  Company  now." 

"Your  pardner,  eh?"  sneered  Denver.  "Well, 
where  would  I  get  off  if  I  took  this  friendly  tip?  I'd 


PAROLE  247 

lose  my  mine,  that's  worth  a  million,  at  least;  and 
get  ten  thousand  dollars  and  a  parole.  A  paroled 
man  can't  locate  a  claim — nor  an  ex-convict,  neither. 
The  Silver  Treasure  is  the  last  claim  that  I'll  ever 
get;  and  I'm  going  to  hold  onto  it,  by  grab!" 

"You're  crazy,"  declared  Bunker,  "didn't  I  say 
we'd  get  you  a  pardon?  Well,  a  pardon  restores 
you  to  citizenship — you  can  locate  all  the  claims 
you  want." 

"Yes,  sure;  if  I'm  pardoned!  But  I  know  that 
danged  Dutchman — he  wouldn't  turn  a  hand  to  get 
me  out  of  the  Pen'  if  you'd  give  him  a  hundred 
thousand  dollars.  He's  got  it  in  for  me,  for  not 
buying  his  claim  when  I  took  the  Silver  Treasure 
from  you;  and  more'n  that,  he's  afraid  of  me, 
because  if  I  ever  get  out " 

"Oh,  don't  be  a  dammed  fool  all  the  rest  of  your 
life,"  burst  out  Bunker  Hill  impatiently.  "If  you'd 
quiet  down  a  little  and  quit  fighting  your  head, 
maybe  your  friends  would  be  able  to  help  you.  I 
might  as  well  tell  you  that  I've  been  to  the  Governor 
and  told  him  the  facts  of  the  case;  and  he's  prac 
tically  promised,  if  the  Professor  will  come  through, 
to  give  you  a  full  pardon  with  citizenship.  Now 
be  reasonable,  Denver,  and  quit  trying  to  whip  the 
world,  and  we'll  get  you  out  of  this  jack-pot.  Give 
old  Murray  your  mine — you  can  never  law  it  away 
from  him — and  take  your  ten  thousand  dollars; 
then  move  to  another  camp  and  make  a  fresh  start 
where  there's  nobody  working  against  you.  Of 
course  I'm  Murray's  pardner — he  put  one  over  on 


248  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

me — but  at  the  same  time  I  reckon  I'm  your  friend. 
Now  there's  the  proposition  and  you  can  take  it  or 
leave  it — I  ain't  going  to  bother  you  again." 

"Nope,  it  don't  look  good  to  me,"  answered  Den 
ver  promptly,  "there's  too  many  ifs  and  ands.  And 
I'll  stay  here  till  I  rot  before  Bible-Back  Murray 
will  ever  get  that  mine  from  me.  He  hired  that 
bunch  of  gun-men  to  jump  my  claim  twice  when 
he  had  no  title  to  the  mine,  and  then  he  hired 
Chatwourth  and  Slogger  Meacham  to  get  me  in 
the  door  and  kill  me.  They  made  a  slight  mistake 
and  got  the  wrong  man,  then  sent  me  to  the  Pen' 
for  murder.  That's  the  kind  of  a  dastard  you've 
got  for  a  pardner  but  you  can  tell  him  I'll  never 
give  up.  I'll  fight  till  I  die,  and  if  I  ever  get 
out " 

"Yes,  there  you  go  again,"  burst  out  Bunker  Hill 
bitterly,  "you  ain't  got  the  brain  of  a  mule.  If  I 
wasn't  to  blame  for  loaning  you  that  gun  and  leav 
ing  you  out  of  my  sight,  I'd  pass  up  your  case  for 
good.  But  I  didn't  have  no  better  sense  than  to 
slip  you  my  old  six-shooter,  and  now  Mrs.  Hill  can't 
hardly  git  over  it  so  I'll  give  you  another  try.  My 
daughter,  Drusilla,  is  coming  home  next  week  and 
she  hasn't  even  heard  about  this  trouble.  Now — 
are  you  going  to  stay  here  and  meet  her  as  a  con 
vict,  or  will  you  come  and  meet  her  like  a  gentle 
man.  This  ain't  my  doin's — I'd  see  you  in  hell, 
first — but  Mrs.  Hill  says  when  you  get  out  on  parole 
we'll  be  glad  to  receive  you  as  our  guest." 

Denver    stopped    and    considered,    smiling   and 


PAROLE  249 

frowning  by  turns,  but  at  last  he  shook  his  head 
mournfully. 

"No,"  he  muttered,  "what  will  she  care  for  a 
poor  ex-con?  No,  I'm  down  and  out/'  he  went  on 
to  Bunker,  "and  she'll  hear  about  it,  anyhow.  It's 
too  late  now  to  pretend  I'm  a  gentleman — my  num 
ber  has  burned  in  like  a  brand.  All  these  other 
prisoners  know  me  and  they'll  turn  me  up  any 
where;  if  I  go  to  the  China  Coast  one  of  'em  would 
show  up,  sooner  or  later,  and  bawl  me  out  for  a 
convict.  No,  I'm  ruined  as  a  gentleman,  and  old 
Murray  did  it;  but  by  God,  if  I  live,  I'll  teach  him 
to  regret  it — and  he  won't  make  a  dollar  out  of 
me.  That  claim  is  tied  up  till  John  D.  Rockefeller 
himself  couldn't  get  it  away  from  me  now;  and  it'll 
lay  right  there  until  I  serve  out  my  sentence  or 
get  a  free  pardon  from  the  Governor.  I  won't  agree 
to  anything  and " 

He  stopped  abruptly  and  looked  away,  after 
which  he  reached  out  his  hand. 

"Well,  much  obliged,  Bunk/'  he  said,  trying  to 
smile,  "I'm  sorry  I  can't  accommodate  you.  Just 
thank  Mrs.  Hill  for  what  she  has  ,done  and — and 
tell  her  I'll  never  forget  it." 

He  went  back  to  his  work  and  old  Bunk  watched 
him  wonderingly,  after  which  he  rode  solemnly 
away.  Then  the  road-making  dragged  on — clear 
ing  away  brush,  blasting  out  rock,  rilling  in,  grading 
up,  making  the  crown — but  now  the  road-boss  was 
absent  minded  and  oblivious  and  his  pride  in  the 
job  was  gone.  He  let  the  men  lag  and  leave  rough 


250  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

ends,  and  every  few  moments  his  eyes  would  stray 
away  and  look  down  the  canyon  for  the  stage.  And 
as  the  automobiles  came  up  he  scanned  the  pas 
sengers  hungrily — until  at  last  he  saw  Drusilla. 
There  was  the  fluttering  of  a  veil,  the  flash  of 
startled  eyes,  a  quick  belated  wave,  and  she  was 
gone.  Denver  stood  in  the  road,  staring  after  her 
blankly,  and  then  he  threw  down  his  pick. 

"Send  me  back  to  the  Pen*  "  he  said  to  the  guard, 
"I'm  going  to  apply  for  parole/' 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

THE    INTERPRETATION    THEREOF 

AFTER  all  his  suffering,  his  oaths,  his  refusals, 
his  rejection  of  each  friendly  offer,  Denver 
had  changed  his  mind  in  the  fraction  of  a  second 
when  he  saw  Drusilla  whirl  past.  He  forgot  his 
mine,  the  fierce  battles,  the  prophecy — all  he  wanted 
was  to  see  her  again.  Placed  on  his  honor  for  the 
trip  he  started  down  the  road,  walking  fast  when 
he  failed  to  catch  a  ride,  and  early  the  next  morning 
he  reported  at  the  prison  to  apply  for  an  immediate 
parole.  But  luck  was  against  him  and  his  heart 
died  in  his  breast,  for  the  Board  of  Prison  Directors 
had  met  the  week  before  and  would  not  meet  again 
for  three  weeks.  Three  weeks  of  idle  waiting,  of 
pacing  up  and  down  and  cursing  the  slow  passage 
of  time;  and  then,  perhaps,  delays  and  disappoint 
ments  and  obstructions  from  Bible-Back  Murray. 
He  sat  with  bowed  head,  then  rose  up  suddenly  and 
wrote  a  brief  letter  to  Murray. 

"Get  me  a  pardon,"  he  scrawled,  "and  I'll  give 
you  a  quit-claim.  This  goes,  if  you  do  it  quick." 

He  put  it  in  the  mail,  with  a  special  delivery 
stamp,  and  watched  the  endless  hours  creep  by.  She 
was  there  in  Final,  running  her  scales,  practicing 

25l 


252  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

her  exercises,  singing  arias  from  the  operas  at  night; 
and  he  was  shut  in  by  the  gray  concrete  walls  where 
the  guards  looked  down  from  the  towers.  He  could 
not  trust  himself  now  outside  of  the  yard,  his 
nerve  was  gone  and  he  would  head  for  Final  like 
a  homing  bird  to  its  mate.  And  then  it  came, 
quicker  than  he  had  ever  thought  or  hoped  for, 
though  he  had  offered  the  Silver  Treasure  in  return 
for  it — a  full  pardon  from  the  Governor,  with  his 
citizenship  restored  and  a  letter  expressing  con 
fidence  in  his  innocence.  Denver  clutched  it  to  his 
breast  and  started  out  across  the  desert  with  his 
eyes  on  distant  Final. 

It  lay  in  the  shadow  of  Apache  Leap,  that  blue 
wall  that  loomed  to  the  east,  and  he  hardly  stopped 
to  shake  hands  with  the  Warden  in  his  haste  to 
get  out  on  the  road.  There  he  stopped  the  first 
automobile  that  was  going  up  the  canyon  and  de 
manded  a  ride  as  his  right,  and  so  earnest  was  his 
manner  that  the  driver  took  him  in  and  even  speeded 
up  his  machine.  But  at  the  fork  of  the  ways,  where 
the  new  road  turned  off  to  Murray,  Denver  thanked 
him  and  got  off  to  walk.  The  sun  was  low  but 
he  did  not  hurry — he  had  begun  to  doubt  his  wel 
come.  A  hot  shame  swept  over  him  at  his  convict's 
shirt,  his  worn  shoes  and  battered  hat;  and  he 
wondered  suddenly  if  it  was  not  all  a  mistake,  if 
he  had  not  thrown  his  mine  away.  She  was  an 
opera  singer  now,  returning  from  a  season  which 
must  have  given  her  a  taste  of  success — what  use 
would  she  have  for  him? 


THE  INTERPRETATION  THEREOF    253 

Up  the  wash  to  the  west,  where  the  automobile 
road  went,  a  big  camp  had  sprung  up  in  his  absence ; 
but  when  he  topped  the  hill  and  gazed  down  on 
Final  nothing  had  changed,  it  was  just  the  same. 
The  street  was  broad  and  empty,  the  houses  still 
in  ruins,  his  cave  still  there  across  the  creek;  and 
from  the  chimney  of  Bunker's  house  a  column  of 
smoke  mounted  up  to  show  that  supper  was  being 
cooked.  Yes,  it  was  the  same  old  town  that  he  had 
entered  the  year  before  when  Old  Bunk  had  taken 
him  for  a  hobo;  but  now  he  was  hobo  and  ex- 
convict  both,  though  the  pardon  had  restored  him 
to  citizenship.  His  broad  shoulders  drooped,  he 
turned  back  and  crossed  the  creek  and  slunk  like  a 
thief  to  his  cave. 

The  door  was  chained  but  he  wrenched  it  open 
and  slipped  in  out  of  sight.  Bunker  Hill  had  closed 
up  the  cave  and  covered  all  his  things,  and  his  bed 
was  spread  with  clean,  white  sheets;  the  floor  was 
swept  and  the  dishes  washed,  and  he  knew  whose 
hands  had  done  it.  It  was  Mrs.  Hill's,  that  kindest 
of  all  women;  who  had  even  invited  him  to  their 
home.  Denver  started  a  fire  and  cooked  a  hasty 

i  left  in  his 
town.  The 
;tar  glowed 
,s  silent  ex- 
Ipitate  with 
went  over 
i  the  house, 


254  SILVER  AND   GOLD 

and  as  Denver  listened  hungrily  a  voice  rose  up, 
clear  and  flute-like,  yet  somehow  changed. 

It  was  her's,  it  was  Drusilla's,  and  yet  it  was 
not;  the  year  had  made  a  change.  There  was  a 
difference  in  her  singing ;  a  new  note  of  tenderness, 
of  yearning,  of  sadness,  of  love.  Yes,  he  recognized 
it  now,  it  had  the  quality  of  the  Cradle  Song  that 
she  had  listened  to  so  enviously  on  his  phonograph. 
She  had  caught  it,  at  last,  that  secret,  subtle  some 
thing  which  gives  Schumann-Heink  her  power;  and 
which  comes  only  from  love — and  suffering.  Den 
ver  rose  up,  startled;  he  had  not  thought  of  it  be 
fore,  but  Drusilla  must  have  suffered,  too.  Not  as 
tragically  as  he  but  in  other  ways,  fighting  her  way 
against  the  whole  world.  He  went  in  hastily  and 
lit  his  lamp  but  even  when  he  was  dressed  his  cour 
age  failed  him  and  he  bowed  his  head  on  the  table. 
He  dared  not  face  her — now. 

The  singing  had  ceased,  the  frog  chorus  seemed 
to  mock  him,  to  din  his  convict's  shame  into  his 
ears;  but  as  he  yielded  to  despair  a  hand  fell  on 
his  shoulders  and  he  looked  up  to  see  Drusilla.  She 
was  more  beautiful  than  ever,  dressed  in  the  soft 
yellow  gown  that  she  had  worn  when  first  he  saw 
her,  but  her  eyes  were  reproachful  and  near  to  tears 
and  she  drew  her  hand  away. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked.  "Can't  you  ever  care 
for  me  ?  Must  I  make  every  single  advance  ?  Oh, 
Denver,  after  I'd  come  clear  home  to  see  you — 
why  wouldn't  you  come  down  to  the  house?" 


THE  INTERPRETATION  THEREOF    255 

He  roused  up  startled,  unable  to  comprehend  her, 
his  mind  in  a  whirl  of  emotions. 

"I  was  afraid  you  didn't  want  me/'  he  said  at 
last  and  she  sank  down  on  the  bench  beside  him. 

"Not  want  you?"  she  repeated.  "Why,  haven't 
I  done  everything  to  get  you  out  of  prison?  Didn't 
I  go  to  the  Professor  and  beg  and  plead  with  him 
and  sing  all  my  German  songs;  didn't  I  go  to  the 
Governor  and  take  him  with  me,  and  go  through 
everything  to  have  you  pardoned?" 

"Pardoned!"  burst  out  Denver  and  then  he 
stopped  and  shook  his  head  regretfully.  "No/'  he 
said,  "I  wish  you  had,  though.  I  traded  my  mine 
for  it — to  Murray !" 

"Why,  Denver!"  she  cried,  "you  did  nothing  of 
the  kind.  I  got  you  that  pardon  myself !  And  then, 
after  all  that — and  after  I'd  played,  and  sung,  and 
waited  for  you — you  wouldn't  even  come  down  to 
see  me!" 

"Why,  sure  I  would!"  he  protested  brokenly, 
"I'd  do  anything  for  you,  Drusilla!  But  I  was 
afraid  you  wouldn't  want  me.  I've  been  in  prison, 
you  know,  and  it  makes  a  difference.  They  call 


me  an  ex-con  now." 


"No,  but  Denver,"  she  entreated,  "surely  you 
didn't  think — why,  we  asked  you  to  come  and  stay 
with  us." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  he  said  but  the  sullen  look  had 
come  back;  he  could  not  forget  so  soon.  "I  know," 
he  went  on,  "but  it  wouldn't  be  right — I  guess  we've 
made  a  mistake.  I  wanted  to  see  you,  Drusilla; 


256  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

I  gave  everything  I  had,  just  to  get  here  before 
you  went " 

"Did  you  really  ?"  she  asked  taking  him  gently 
by  the  hand  and  looking  deep  into  his  eyes,  "did 
you  give  up  your  mine — for  me?" 

"Just  to  see  you,"  answered  Denver,  "but  after 
I  got  here " 

"Oh,  I'm  so  glad!"  she  sighed,  "and  you  haven't 
lost  your  mine.  I  got  to  the  Governor  first." 

"You  did?"  he  cried  and  then  he  sat  up  and 
the  old  fire  came  back  into  his  eyes.  "That's  right," 
he  laughed,  "you  must  have  beat  him  to  it — I 
thought  that  pardon  came  quick!  This'll  cost  old 
Murray  a  million." 

"No,  you  haven't  lost  your  mine,"  she  went  on, 
smiling  curiously.  "You  think  a  lot  of  it,  don't 
you?" 

"Well,  I  don't  know,"  grumbled  Denver, 
"whether  I  do  or  not  now.  I  believe  that  mine  was 
a  Jonah.  I  believe  I  made  a  mistake  and  chose  the 
wrong  treasure — I  should  have  taken  the  gold." 

"Oh,  Denver!"  she  beamed,  "do  you  really  think 
so?  I've  always  just  hated  that  mine.  I've  always 
had  the  feeling  that  you  thought  more  of  it  than 
you  did  of  me — or  anybody." 

"Well,  I  did,"  confessed  Denver,  "it  seemed  to 
kind  of  draw  me — to  make  me  forget  everything 
else.  And  Drusilla,  I'm  sorry  I  didn't  come  down 
— that  night  when  you  went  away." 

"It  was  the  mine,"  she  frowned,  "I  believe  it 
was  accursed.  It  always  came  between  us.  But 


THE  INTERPRETATION  THEREOF  257 

you  must  sell  it  now,  and  not  work  for  a  while — 
I  want  you  to  entertain  me." 

"I'll  do  it!"  exclaimed  Denver,  "I'll  sell  out  for 
what  I  can  get  and  then  we  can  be  together.  How 
did  you  get  along  on  your  trip?" 

"Oh,  fine!"  she  burst  out  radiantly,  "Oh,  I  had 
such  luck.  I  was  only  the  understudy,  and  doing 
minor  parts,  when  the  soprano  was  taken  ill  in  the 
second  act  and  I  went  in  and  scored  a  triumph.  It 
was  'Love  Tales  of  Hoffmann'  and  when  I  sang  the 
'Barcarolle'  they  recalled  me  seven  times !  That  is 
they  recalled  us  both — it's  sung  as  a  duet,  you 
know." 

"Urn,"  nodded  Denver  and  listened  in  glum 
silence  as  she  related  the  details  of  her  premier. 
"And  how  about  those  tenors?"  he  asked  at  last, 
"did  any  of  'em  steal  my  kiss?" 

"No — or  that  is — well,  we  won't  talk  about  that 
now.  But  of  course  I  have  to  act  my  parts." 

"Oh,  sure,  sure!"  he  answered  rebelliously  and 
a  triumphant  twinkle  came  into  her  eyes. 

"Do  you  still  believe  in  the  prophecy?"  she  asked, 
"and  in  all  that  Mother  Trigedgo  told  you?  Be 
cause  if  you  do,  I've  got  some  news — you  won't 
die  until  you're  past  eighty." 

"I  won't  ?"  challenged  Denver  and  then  he  stopped 
and  waited  as  she  smiled  back  at  him  mischievously. 

"She's  a  nice  old  woman,"  went  on  Drusilla  de 
murely,  "but  I  wouldn't  take  her  too  seriously.  She 
told  me,  for  instance,  that  I'd  give  up  a  great  career 


2 58  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

in  order  to  marry  for  love.    Yes,  I  went  over  to  see 
her,  myself." 

"But  what  about  me?"  demanded  Denver  eagerly, 
"did  she  say  I'd  live  till  I  was  eighty?" 

"Yes,  she  did;  and  she  told  me  some  other  things, 
including  the  color  of  your  eyes.  But  don't  you 
see,  Denver,  that  you  made  a  mistake  when  you 
took  what  she  said  so  seriously?  Why,  you 
wouldn't  even  speak  to  me  or  let  us  be  friends  for 
fear  that  I'd  rise  up  and  kill  you;  and  now  it  ap 
pears  that  it  was  all  a  mistake  and  you're  going  to 
live  till  you're  eighty." 

"Well,  all  the  same,"  responded  Denver  sighing 
and  stretching  his  great  arms,  "I'm  awful  glad  she 
said  it.  And  a  man  could  live  to  be  eighty  and 
still  be  killed  by  his  friend.  No,  I  believe  that 
prophecy  was  true!" 

"Very  well,"  she  assented,  "but  you  don't  need 
to  worry  about  our  friendship,  and  that's  the  prin 
cipal  thing.  I  just  did  it  to  set  your  mind  at  rest." 

"Yes,  it  was  true,"  he  went  on  rousing  up  from 
a  reverie,  "but  I  was  wrong — I  should  have  taken 
the  gold." 

"Is  that  all  you  think  of?"  she  asked  impatiently, 
"is  there  nothing  but  silver  and  gold  ?" 

"Yes,  there  is,"  he  acknowledged,  "but — say, 
Drusilla  I'm  going  to  buy  out  the  Dutchman.  I 
believe  that  stringer  of  his  is  rich." 

"What  stringer?"  she  demanded  looking  up  from 
her  own  musings  and  then  she  nodded  and  sighed. 
"Yes,  I  know,"  she  said,  "you're  back  at  your  min- 


THE  INTERPRETATION  THEREOF  259 

ing — but  you  promised  you'd  think  only  of  me. 
I  may  not  be  here  long  and  you  want  to  be  nice 
to  me;  because  I  almost  hated  you,  once.  Now 
listen,  Denver,  and  let  me  interpret — don't  you 
know  you've  got  everything  wrong?" 

"No !"  declared  Denver,  "it  has  all  come  out  per 
fectly.  I've  lived  clear  through  it,  already.  Only 
I  chose  the  wrong  treasure  and  so  I  lost  them  both 
and  suffered  a  great  disgrace.  I  should  have  taken 
the  gold." 

"No;  listen  Denver,"  she  went  on  patiently,  "and 
don't  always  be  thinking  of  things.  A  golden 
treasure  isn't  necessarily  of  gold,  it  might  be  even 
—me." 

"You?"  echoed  Denver  and  then  he  clutched  his 
hands  and  stared  about  him  wildly. 

"Why,  yes,"  she  answered  evenly,  "haven't  you 
noticed  my  hair?  Other  men  are  not  so  blind — 
and  one  of  them  said  it  reminded  him  of  fine-spun 
gold.  Yes,  I  was  the  golden  treasure  in  the  shadow 
of  Apache  Leap,  but  all  you  could  think  of  was 
mines.  The  mine  was  your  silver  treasure,  and 
you  had  to  choose  between  us — and  you  always 
chose  the  mine.  No  matter  how  I  sang,  or  did  up 
my  hair  or  came  around  where  you  were  at  work; 
you  always  went  into  that  black,  hateful  hole,  and 
I  used  to  go  home  and  cry.  But — no,  listen,  Denver 
— when  you  saw  me  come  back,  and  you  wanted  to 
see  me,  and  there  was  no  other  way  to  do  it ;  then 
you  threw  away  your  mine  and  told  Murray  to 
take  it — and  I  knew  that  you  really  loved  me.  You 


260  SILVER  AND  GOLD 

loved  me  even  more  than  your  mine,  and  so  you 
won  us  both.  Do  you  like  your  golden  treasure?" 

"I  was  a  fool!"  moaned  Denver  but  she  stroked 
his  rumpled  hair  and  raised  his  face  from  his  hands. 

"We've  both  of  us  been  foolish,"  she  whispered, 
"I  nearly  hated  you  once,  and  nearly  gave  your 
kiss  to  a  tenor.  But — oh  Denver,  I'll  never  sing 
with  those  men  again!  I  know  you  wouldn't 
like  it." 

"No,  I  wouldn't,"  he  admitted,  "and  if  you'll 
only " 

'There  it  is,"  she  interrupted,  giving  him  the 
long-treasured  kiss.  "I  saved  it  just  for  you." 


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